For The Taking
by Mr. Mad Mercenary
Summary: Few believed in the legend of the Vagabond, and even fewer had experienced his malice firsthand. In Los Santos though, everyone knew to cower away from even a single syllable in the name, everyone but the Fake AH Crew.
1. Warning

Hi, I'm the author of this story. First off, I'll give you a warning and by the end of this prologue there will be more notes to highlight certain points. This will serve as a warning to the readers of this story. Let it be known that it was handed out before the viewer took the liberty to read this story. This story contains graphic deceptions of violence, a robust use of vulgarity and profanity, sexual and 'triggering' themes, and emotional scenes (and even some death) that may upset the reader. There will also be moments where I as the author opt out of writing things because you write a long story like this and tell me that you were still entertained with it nearing the end. You are also going to be subjected to insults from me, because you're a sack of rotten meat and I'll say what I want. It's a package experience here and you'll have to suffer. Or not. If this does not suit your common interest then you may put the piece of work down and never choose to open it again, I really couldn't care less. But I know you'll read on, so that's your warning. And if you're here for soft-core porn you won't find it. I wrote out zero wieners in this story. Eww. Penis. Haha okay that's funny. 69. Okay that's it for me now. You'll definitely get more of that humor through the story though.


	2. Prologue

_"These streets were made for the strongest..."_

The streets were silent, calm and oddly peaceful that night. It was not as if it was not to be expected, but it was something that could rarely be found. Few cars trailed their ways down the silent paths, most people fearful of what may happen when night falls. It was like an entirely different world at night, and nobody was ready to handle it. Theft, murder, armed assault, arson, only a few of the things expected in this city. It was unnatural for the streets to be quiet, but nobody wanted to try and figure out exactly what was going on, if something were planned then it would happen regardless of innocent bystanders.

" _The bravest and best, only the most elite can handle it-"_

It all started a few days ago when a few people started acting out. The police department had been no help, and some people even began taking matters into their own hands, vigilantes some might call them. It was the one thing people started to cling onto, because when the vigilantes made themselves public, crime seemed to drop instantly at alarming rates. The 'Power Pals'- as they were called- were quick to dress up at night and patrol most everywhere. With police officers on their side, they were undefeated. They had all the knowledge of the most recent shipments of anything costly, and a few of the pals even had a hand in the black markets around the city, so they could bust anyone before they even planned on striking. It was incredible, inconceivable, and destined to fail.

" _Sometimes, not even them..."_

Then someone new surfaced, and it all seemed to rise back up again exponentially. People, once again, feared for their every waking moment. Some were so terrified that they even packed their bags and fled the entire state, fretful that the violence may follow them. The mayor had promised that he would handle and fix everything, and that in the end it would all be fine, but so far he had yet to live up to his promises. While he was away basking in his corporate greed, innocents on the ground were busy suffering and dying. It was almost like nobody truly cared anymore about it, some people even made bets to see where the crime would strike next. It was a terrible community for children to be raised in, and even worse for children to be first born into.

" _There's only room for one boss in this city."_

Crime increased and the majority of cops quit their jobs and fled the city as well, or the most were relocated. Troops were called in, even an army was stationed at the southernmost edge of the map, there was everything needed in order to ensure safety- and even that failed. The President had begun to give up, and the people knew he would soon see that city as a lost cause, a place unworthy of assistance because nothing was working.

" _One person to take claim of everything, to smother all those lying backstabbers."_

The mayor still had yet to make his moves, he was always so encompassed in himself that he seemed to not notice everything around him, it was no shock to the people when he suddenly vanished along with a large pile of cash. Nobody believed that he had been killed; when someone important was murdered, it was usually turned into a spectacle to be prodded and examined, some piece of evidence that spoke volumes only to the true criminals.

 _"And that person, is me-"_

Now there stood only a lone figure in the lamplight, his silhouette surprisingly tall and muscular in the shadow of falsely illuminated light. He was the reason that the 'Power Pals' had failed so impossibly, he was the only one who had been able to put an end to their wretched reign, and he basked in that glory most every day. Credit did go to the one who gave him the job, but he wasn't too specific on that, he wanted the city to know _his_ name, not anyone else's. There was nothing left to fear but himself, is what he always believed in, and he was sure that one day he would rule the city- and then, the world. His head tilted up, and a dark and mesmerizing smirk danced upon his lips. " _Ryan Haywood."_


	3. Chapter 1

_Gavin_

The weather was boiling outside, enough to have anyone baking in their skin, but somehow that did not manage to show on the young lads face as he carelessly strolled into a jewelry store. He was more of a 'solo' artist nowadays, his last teammates had been less than fulfilling for him, and he could be living in a penthouse and still have a need to complain about his life. It was just how he was, unsatisfied at every turn. That never came as a shock to him, he was greedy and he knew it, greed controlled his every step. It showed through his massive intellect and thirst for more knowledge, he wanted everything there was to have, and he was damn sure not going to be impeded by anything or anyone. Leading to why he was here today, he had agreed to go on a run with someone he had grown fond of, a woman by the name of Meg. She was stunning in his eyes, a nymphomaniac, and even better flexible in the best of ways. Not only sexually, but physically as well. She knew the best ways to bend and twist her body to evade bullets and take down officers, not once had Gavin been able to tell her no, and now would not be a start.

The Jewelry Co. Jewelers were getting in a new shipment that morning, and in one of the crates would be the most sought after diamond in the entire state; the _Millennium Jewel._ It had proudly assumed its name for being the only gem worthy of being held at a price higher than anyone could ever afford, unless they were multi-billionaires looking to loosen their wallets. The _Millennium Jewel_ was found deep in the caverns of Los Santos, it was the only reason on why it was being displayed here in that very city. The Jewelry Co. Jewelers were the only ones able to afford its display price, meaning they were not allowed to sell it to anyone, but they could put it on display in their office. The second it had been announced on T.V. Meg was sure that she had to have it, and Gavin was the only one to help her achieve that.

They had never actually established a relationship status, but they had on multiple occasions screwed, that was the only depth to their relationship. Gavin had wanted more for a while, but she always seemed eager to hop onto the next person that could do for her, and he had tried offering her everything. His wealth, his knowledge, his manor, his name, it was all hers if she were to only stay loyal. Fat chance.

The moment she had called, he had picked up on the first ring, almost _desperate_ to hear her seductive voice again. She knew that he was the only one she did not have to manipulate into getting what she wanted, she was always able to simply ask and receive, and it was not as if she didn't reward him however. " _Gav? You at the pick-up point or what?"_

Gavin snapped back to his senses, he was on a mission and it was vital for him to be focused through the whole endeavor. He released a shaky breath before nodding, forgetting shortly that he was not visible in her line of view. "Course I am love, you are free to go." He knew at this point that even if he had second thoughts that he would have to go through with it either way, and for once, he did have a bad feeling churning up through his gut. It was a foreboding sense, only whispering in his ear every so often. Like a fly that you had to keep repeatedly swatting away, it just would not leave. Normally on jobs, Gavin was overflowing with enough confidence to fill the world and then some, so this slight unease was more than enough to set him on edge. A charming smile lifted up his lips as a woman came strolling next to him; she wore a black plaid skirt and a matching black blouse with her hair all done up extravagantly in its hold- she clearly worked there. Gavin, on the other hand, looked like he was more into buying sports car than any kinds of jewelry. All clad in a snug navy blue button up and white jeans with black dress shoes and his signature sunglasses.

There was a chuckle as Gavin leaned himself next to the security system, waiting for his distraction to come in. Meg did not ever have to actually do anything, just her presence was enough to stun people into silence and garner _all_ stares. So today was not unlike all others. Her shimmering deep scarlet hair had been released from its confinements, cascading around her like flaming ringlets. She had done on make-up, even though Gavin insisted that she was prettier without it, dark eyeliner rimmed along the outside of her cerulean gaze, powdery gray eye-shadow placed atop to match. However, it was not her face that Gavin was drawn to; it was the carefully placed elegance in the movement of her body. A satin black dress clung to her pale skin as if it had been painted on, falling free around the knees in waves down to her shoes- black heels that seemed to be never-ending. Gavin would have preferred an outfit that showed off more of her legs, but he was far from complaining over her choice.

He tore his eyes away from her with great reluctance, using up the distraction of her pitching a fit in the store to hack into the security's mainframe. Shutting down the system entirely, he reboots it with a new password before turning and slipping past the crowd. He could feel Meg's eyes on him as he moved, and he knew that she would continue making a spectacle of herself until he was out of sight behind the door, and part of him wanted to stall for a bit just to get back at her. Nevertheless, revenge was not something he was particularly good at, and he knew that Meg could hurt him back ten times worse than any scheme he could think up.

The back room was primarily bare; nothing too interesting was being shown, only cut diamonds that had yet to be placed on rings or in necklaces. Gavin had thought a smelter or maybe the diamond cutter themselves would forge the diamonds into the chains and studs, so he was disappointed to find out that he could in fact be wrong about things. The only box that looked too perfect to be a normal shipment, was a velvety black one placed above all the other boxes in a small cage that had already been shut down. It was a poor defense mechanism, and Gavin knew that, it was almost like he was miscalculating something. Reaching up, he flicks open the small container, pulling free the box. The diamond within it was little more than a shard, only large enough to fit on a bracelet at best, but it shone with the brilliance of a million dazzling stars, it was like the heavens itself crafted such a masterpiece. Sliding the box into his pocket, he hesitates a bit. When he gives this to Meg, she'll simply thank him with congratulatory sex and then scamper off to find the next male or female to help her get what she wants. He knew that he had no way to get her to stay, but maybe he could propose to her with this gem, it seemed magical in and of itself.

He turned back to the door, more hopeful than he had been previously, but his heart stopped the second he heard a familiar sound; sirens.

It would have been foolish of her to try to help in any of the computer mechanisms that Gavin was so fascinated by, and that was why she picked such a small role in the grand heist. It was not much of a heist, but she knew that the world would be shocked and appalled to hear that their precious 'God Gem' had been taken forcibly from its sanctuary. A small chuckle escaped her crimson lips as she smirked a little to herself. ' _It belongs to me.'_ She reminded herself, it was almost like the ad in the news was taunting her, daring her to try to get the diamond from them. Of course, she knew exactly how, and it was a simple manipulation tactic. She had over a thousand contacts in her phone, even police officers fell prey to her lure, so it had taken awhile for her to remember what Gavin's name was.

It was surprising that he had answered on the first ring, and had she not been so immune to feelings she would have felt charmed. However, for her stuff like that was natural, she was oxygen for people and they were _always_ needing to be around her and just needing _her_ in general. She held the strong belief that people owed it to her to fall before her when in her presence. She was well aware of the power she held over both men and women, so twisting it to get her way was something she knew how to do specially. A noise resounded from behind her, a familiar one that she knew all too well; police sirens. Her eyes flashed with rage as she turned to look over at the room that Gavin had slipped into. She had given him one job, dismantle security, and he hadn't even been able to handle that?! She knew she would punish him with an earful when they got back to safety.

Realizing that it was much too late and she had already been compromised, she pulls out the gun tucked behind her, firing off a couple rounds to get everyone's attention. Screams were heard as people ran and ducked for cover, Meg couldn't have possibly cared less where they ran to, they were all her hostages now, and Gavin would be her ticket out of here. She would simply have to give him up to the cops instead. Tearing off the bottom of her dress for easier movements, she stomps over to the other room, kicking the door down with fluidity. " _GAVIN._ You forgot to disable the _alarm?!"_

Gavin jumped a little, nearly dropping the jewel he held clasped in his palm. "No, it must have been one triggered by touching the cage, a silent one. Or maybe it was one that went off when the alarm system in general was shut do-"

" _I don't care!_ Give me the gem!" She thrust her hand out, eyes still blazing with distinct hatred. Gavin knew that he had messed up, but seeing her this furious drove him mad, he would do anything to assuage her anger, even though he knew he wasn't qualified for that. She watched him, expectant and impatient, as he finally dropped the jewel into her hand. As it had looked on the television, it was sparkling and more beautiful than any of the other jewelry she had ever seen. She was sure it could even put a heavenly deity to shame. A wry smirk slowly curled it's way up her lips, it was finally all _hers_.

Gavin was sure that she would have been happier to have brought along any other hacker, and he was suddenly grateful that he was the only one she had actually bothered getting to know. He opened his mouth to apologize, feeling his sorrow gripping at his chest like a cold claw sinking itself further and further, but she silenced him with a raised hand, motioning to the door. "Let's just get the fuck out of here."

She didn't wait for his answer, and instead turned on her heels and left. She scoured the perimeter, but there were cops all over the place, they were truly surrounded, and there was nothing that could be done in hopes of escaping. "Megan LeeAnn Turney, we have you surrounded, come out now with your hands up."

Gavin's breath caught. He had forgotten all about his 'clean slate', he had never been caught or convicted of a crime, the cops weren't after him. Finally realization dawned on him, his mind blanking as he simply stood there in the middle of the room. Everything was happening in slow motion, and the voices surrounding him were drowned out. "How could I have been so stupid?..." He mumbled, eyes empty and face pale. "It was all a set up."

From the night that the commercial had first shown Gavin had thought it had been too superficial. There was something so cheesy and beckoning about it, something that made the commercial look like it was searching for trouble. At first glance Gavin had thought the store was rubbing it in all of their competitors faces, but in reality it was something entirely different. The entire thing had been a ploy from the start, the problem wasn't faulty wiring or anything on Gavin's behalf. The second Meg walked into the building somebody pressed the emergency button underneath the desk, it was the only possible way that the cops had gotten there fast enough. This entire thing was just a ruse to get Meg to come out of hiding, and Gavin assisted her in the escape.

He was blown from his thoughts as the door blew open, glass shards flying in every possible direction. Gavin only had a millisecond to raise his arms to protect his face before he felt the glass sink into his skin. He hissed a little out of frustration, falling back from the blast. His vision cleared, and he saw Meg a little ways away, she looked wild and somehow set free. " _USELESS!"_

She screamed, her eyes narrowed at Gavin before she stood and took off at full speed out of the shop. Gavin had called out to her, at least he was sure he had, his mind was still a little hazy at all that was going on. The hostages began to run outside, and Gavin stumbled up from the ground, dizzily finding his way out the door. The afternoon sun was blinding, burning his retinas in the most painful of ways. He shied away from it at first, listening to the roar of helicopters and police sirens, but when it all cleared away, all he could hear was his own beating heart- fast and irregular- and then his scream. " _NO!"_

His legs hadn't been enough to keep him standing, not anymore. The cops were all gathered around a slumped over figure; Meg. She was lying there on the floor, bleeding out, her lifeless eyes seemingly boring into Gavin's very soul. The police were celebrating while Gavin was internally dying. He struggled up to his feet, swallowing down any vomit, before he turned to make his own escape.

Weeks upon weeks passed and Gavin couldn't handle it anymore, the memories were killing him. Having watched Meg die had taken everything out of him, and all because of a simple mistake made by him. One job, it's all he had, and he failed because he was distracted. By her. His head fell into his hands again, how many days had he been locked away now? He had lost count after the fourth day of being drunk. Night had fallen on his apartment though, the darkness was comforting. Wind drifted into the room from his window, the curtains billowing around in almost an invitingly angelic way. He watched for a moment, enraptured by the slow and tantalizing movements.

It was almost like the earth was breathing, in then out, in and out again. It set the ambiance of the room to something more ethereal than even human-like, Gavin was struck by it's beauty. He stared a moment longer before by hesitant will he took a stand from the couch. Like a finger curling in it's beckoning way, tempting Gavin closer, he had no choice but to be lured into the trap. When he reached the window, he finally understood everything. After all his crimes, he couldn't help but believe that losing Meg was probably his largest failure. The step onto the ledge was probably the easiest step he'd taken in his life, but he knew that the fall would be even harder. His heart was racing, breath caught in the nape of his neck, and he could feel his fingers trembling as they gripped tirelessly at the pane surrounding him. The street below him was relatively calm, too calm in his opinion. ' _It's like they have no idea'_

He had seen this stunt pulled on numerous occasions, people would stand on the ledge drawing the attentions of an innocent bystander which would inevitably cause a huge scene and a ruckus. He was unsure of if he wanted that though, but he knew that there was a 99% chance that he wouldn't be able to be talked out of this. His eyes blurred for a second and the world seemed to spin, city lights mixing in the most delightful way- like Christmas lights and fireworks. It was only one step, just one step and a delightful fall all the twenty stories down. But it would be a fast death, he knew more than enough about the world to be able to tell that he wouldn't suffer in death. His breathing came out raggedly, sounding like rasps instead of breaths, he knew he was more panicked than what he let on. A shrill type of laughter bubbled up from his throat. After all his years of being this terrible and awful thieving man he was about to be some kind of sickly hero. Putting out the best hacker in the world was a good thing, even if he was doing it to himself. The police would question it for a while until some expert unlocked his computer to find all the incriminating evidence against him.

Another breath spilled past his lips before he closed his eyes. Peace was overwhelming, that was something that the books and websites never told anyone; how peaceful a death could be. He breathed out blissfully, feeling his body relax. The wind against his face reminded him of his hometown in Britain. It was quaint and small, a little farmhouse in the countryside where the wind was bountiful. He could remember the mornings, where he spent all his time on the roof until his mother would call him down for breakfast. His father was constantly working, so he never got the chance to really see him. When his father ran, and the farm burnt to the ground, Gavin had no choice but to learn how to hack things. His mother was in no shape to work, but he was sloppy, and because of yet another mistake he was caught. His mother took the blame, and she was sent to life imprisonment, so Gavin yet again fled. Living on the streets was never something he could handle, but he forced himself to be able to, it was only fair that he died at the hand of which created him; the streets. "What are you doing there Golden Boy?"

His body jerked forward a bit, hands clamping tightly on the window sill as a shocked yelp crawled from his throat. " _Bloody Hell!_ What the _fuck_ does it look like?!" He hadn't heard his nickname in ages now, so hearing it come from some else's lips shocked him to no ends. That _and_ the fact that someone was in his apartment then. He glanced over his shoulder, blonde locks whipping before his face and blinding him for a second. When his vision cleared, he was able to see a man, older than him with a weirdly curly mustache and fancy attire, seated comfortably on his couch with a sandwich in his hands. It looked like he had been in his apartment for quite some time now. Gavin grimaced. "Looks like you're admiring the view, I do that a lot too."

Gavin was far past bewildered, his eyes flashing the same astonishment he felt. His fingers, now sweaty from his grip, tightened a little more. This person could not be farther from sanity even if they tried, Gavin tried to push them from his mind to finish the job but curiosity won over that competition. "Why are you in _my fucking house?!_ "

The man laughed a little, taking a bite from his sandwich as if he had all the time in the world, and really he did- it was Gavin that didn't have much time left. "Ah yes." The man finally spoke, his hand lifting a napkin to wipe away the crumbs left on his cheek. "Introductions are a necessity aren't they? I'm Geoffrey Ramsey, you'll come to know me as the _catalyst._ "

Gavin racked his brain for a name like that, anything that would have stood out by any chance, but nothing came to mind. Through all his countless hours of studying databases and criminal suspects he'd never even briefly glanced a file by that name. "I see that look. You won't have heard of me, unless you're interested in local alcoholics with terrible gambling addictions." There was a chuckle, Gavin felt his stomach churn with unease. "I haven't committed many crimes I could be busted with yet, but I have heard of _you_ Gavin Free. Oh yes, the truth cometh forward. Your _real_ name. Hails from a little town in Britain, hardly even famous for much else than bread. Daddy ran out, farm burnt to the ground, and you started hacking. The police would have the world think that your mother had done it, and after having been tried by a trial before the queen, well, _chhhhhk."_ He drew his thumb against his neck, a twisted and perverse smile lifting up his lips. That sickly feeling slammed against Gavin again, how could this man think such a thing was so amusing?!

"She didn't last long, no. But you, you lived out many meaningless years on the streets, until you perfected your art. Your craft, your _one special talent._ I bet mommy would be so proud. But after stealing from the Queen half of her own _hard earned_ profit, well you bounced and landed yourself all cozy in America. Until of course Megan LeeAnn Turney. Or Meg for short. You two were quite hot now weren't you? But this recent heist, you guys just kinda _blew_ out of luck. It was just like being _shot_ with the gun of justice, just took you two down now didn't it?"

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut, he could still see all the blood and the way her eyes had dimmed out as if there had never been any life there to begin with. Shaking his head, he feels his entire body quiver. "Shut _up_ , just bugger off will ya?!"

The man, Geoffrey, stood finally and approached Gavin at the ledge. "No." He answered, slow and methodically as if he were answering a question he was 100% certain of. "See, how I see it is like this. You can jump off this ledge, and the world will know you as that pussy who took his own life because his precious bitch passed away, I mean I get it. Now who are you going to fuck? But anyway, you could kill yourself, I'm hardly going to force you to get off that ledge, I'm simply giving you a chance at revenge. Join me, and become powerful beyond your wildest dreams. Sure there are other hackers I could recruit, but none as brilliant as you, don't let all that talent go to waste now, Golden Boy."

Gavin hesitated again, his eyes landing on the ground beneath him. What once seemed so welcoming and warm now looked cold and harsh, like endless suffering of bitterness. What was being offered to him was something that would suffice much more than a meaningless suicide. He wanted to get back at the cops for killing Meg, but just him alone wouldn't ever be able to do so. This Geoff guy was giving him a chance at that, a reason to keep living. Backing down off the ledge, he turns completely to face the man before him. "Alright, who's the team?"

Geoffrey smiles, a wide and sort of crazy smile, the type a mass-murderer might give after hearing that they're lifelong pursuit of being the most wanted had finally paid off. "First, let's get you cleaned up. _Welcome to the_ _Fake AH Crew._ Well Golden Boy, you're my first member."


	4. Chapter 2

_Jack_

" _I'm sorry, but we'll have to let you go..."_ The United States Air Patrol were probably the finest of the perfect, and Jack was the best pilot known to their name. There wasn't a trench he couldn't clear or an ocean he couldn't cross, nobody could ever take away his name, he was much too integral to be let go, at least he had told himself that. His technique- though flawless- was still considered unorthodox. Despite all the controversy around his name, he was the best fighter pilot in the world, and people were afraid that losing him would result in mass failure throughout the entire platoon and possibly even further. So he never got any reprimanding for his ways.

That is, until he had been relieved of his duties. Five whole years serving his country only for his country to shit on him. He wasn't even offered a severance pay of any sort, just immediately let go and put on a wanted list for negligence in the force which just added to insult. He had a three day probation offered to him before life in a maximum penitentiary. It was even more insulting to him. To think that he could serve his country and be repaid back not through kindness but through the stone cold hammer of injustice. He'd broken minimal rules at the cost of lives, the rules _had_ to be broken for people to be rescued, that was what vigilante-ism was, and he knew that heroism of sorts was largely frowned upon, but sometimes it was _necessary_.

Jack had grown up in a dilapidated one bedroom house with an outhouse out back and a gas stove. Everything had been old fashioned and quaint, down to the stitched up clothes he wore. There was no need for them to try and own anything electrical of sorts, they had no outlets. But his mother and father made up for that in a bountiful collection of only the greatest of novels. He'd read them all, and the ones with a vocabulary size that escalated his own knowledge was read and explained to him. From a young age he was able to read, write, and talk. It was a wonder that he'd grown up as down to earth as he had though, human interaction was slight, and the only one he'd really known was the motherly love offered to him in the days.

He'd never scorn her, not once would he _ever_ even think of speaking negatively of his mother, but she worked the nights. Despite his fathers distaste for it, he worked all mornings and afternoons, so luckily he held more hours than her, but she still went out from nine at night to four in the morning to provide for them. They were almost perfect. _Almost perfect._ It was unfair when Jack thought of it, how cruel life could be, his parents were the kindest people he'd ever met, and they deserved to be treated with the same amount of kindness that the rest of the world seemed to be shown.

He would watch, when he started working as a lumberjack at the youngest age possible- fourteen- as children his own age or even younger would traipse off to school, eager to start a new learning experience. He'd envied them at the apex of his youth, yearning to one day join them in the same cores. Then he'd learned of what it meant when his parents went out, the terrible things they had to take part in just to provide for him, and he began gritting his teeth and smiling. His exterior was tough, like lead and iron- an impenetrable and inscrutable surface that gave away no weaknesses or vulnerabilities. He was like his father, only his father had grown weary and old, ravished by death himself, and merely clinging to life by a strand. He'd had to quit his job first, it was why Jack had to work so hard.

He was younger, so he could always have more and more jobs, at the end of the year he held six at the same time, with a four hour span of sleep and thirty minute naps on his breaks. His one job, the last one he'd acquired, had soon become his favorite job, the one he was certain he would keep forever if he could. It wasn't like the endless farmwork he did or the tree chopping, newspaper delivering, shelf restocking or room cleaning he did- it was more mechanical. The old man had been looking for a willing and able bodied person to assist them with their machinery. They'd hired Jack and started his training almost instantly, putting him to work on cars first. He was taught to drive them, and then he was taught to fix them- demolish and rebuild them, start from scratch and create a scale model. And then his most favorite came, he was taught _planes._

He'd found one in the old mans shed, dusty and broken down, and pleaded to learn how to fix her. The old man of course acceded, and his training was instantaneous. Jack didn't see it fair to the elderly male, he had been set to work on things he loved doing and was _paid_ for it. They only took a few months, and soon Jack had learned everything there was to know about every single part of a plane and how it worked, he could build one from nothing and fix it in mere minutes as well as no matter what model he was given; he could fly it. And good too, he was able to fly every plane by the time he was seventeen, which happened to be the worst year of his life.

His parents both passed away, his mother to an unidentified disease and then his father in the middle of the night- Jack had deemed it a broken heart. He'd buried them himself, and those he'd worked for all showed up to the funeral. It had all been too much on him though, he was still so young and it was _illegal_ for him to live alone. He ended up being taken in by the old man, and he was even still paid to work on the planes and trucks that came in, a bountiful pay as well. So he was finally able to quit his other jobs and learn what relaxation was.

It was only a year later when his guardian passed away, leaving to him all his money and his one plane. Jack took it and left. He fired up the engine and flew off as far away as he could have ever, and found that the plane had possibly been steering itself instead. He landed in an airfield, a training one for the military, and then he'd begged for a job. That was what had started his whirlwind of a career. And unfortunately, the next staggering step in his life...

The bars were never kind or any fun to be around, but the bartender was nice. He'd never exactly _spoken_ to the man, not much else than a gruffly ordered drink, but he knew well enough to see that he was involved in the underworld and black-market. The story was screamed through the woven black tattoos on his arms and chest as well as the dark glint in his emerald gaze. Jack had momentarily wondered if he could ever ask him about such a thing, but he knew that he would never. Sure, he was a criminal now, and technically was supposed to be in jail in only 13 more hours, but he still wasn't about to do something he'd _really_ regret. At least, he was trying to talk himself out of it.

But he'd left that morning with a gun strapped to his hip and a knife tucked in his belt, obviously there was an intent to fight, and an incentive as well. He wouldn't be dragged through the mud without giving them the proper reasoning to do so. The news was wrong, and his publicity was steadily rising. He was a mad man, had gotten many on his own team killed just to add to his own fame, didn't even save anybody, had only flown the planes as a joke. _A fraud._

The words stung, because only a month ago they'd been singing his praise. People were too fickle, too unappreciative, too impossible to please, so he resigned himself to doing nothing of the sorts. If this is what it would cost, if this was the payment owed to him for his eleven years in the service, then he would pay that fine.

His grip on his glass tightened, eyes darkening and narrowing into slits as he thrummed his fingers against the hardwood bar in front of him. He'd only ever seen the cruelness of the world, and just as his parents had suffered he was so destined to as well. It was only fair. The sound of wood scratching against wood was sudden enough to yank him away from his reverie, his eyes snapping to his immediate left, a male had taken the liberty of sitting next to him.

People in the bar were different here than in most other bars. ' _Strange'_ was a place for the criminals and outcasts of the world, the filthy rejects that people couldn't stand to be around, it was only fitting that Jack spend his last free night out with the people who he would soon be surrounded in. His eyes examined the person, taking in their everything, taking in how formal their apparel was in comparison to the way everyone else was dressed: a mob boss. Another person plopped down at his side, this one all glamoured out in golden chains and a brightly smiling face adorned with tacky large sunglasses. He smelt terribly of cheap cologne, like he'd bathed in it instead of spritzed it on, it was suffocating and consuming all-round. He didn't know which one he was supposed to be regarding, he only knew one thing and that was that he was most definitely surrounded. "Would the gentlemen like a round?"

The thickly Spanish accented voice called out to him, a lilt of amusement twinging it, Jack felt sickened by the thought that there was a chance that he was setup. He wasn't exactly friends with the bartender, but at the same time he didn't think that he had pissed him off in any sense. "A Bloody Mary for me and for my friend just a beer, let's give Pattillo here a refill on us too, yeah?" The British one of them, the one clad in the ridiculously expensive pounds of jewelry, spoke first sounding childishly pleased.

Jack's entire body went taut with fear, he hadn't ever even once in his life connected himself with gang affair or drug lords, he had always decided they were more trouble than they were worth and had resigned himself to simply working the hard way. He lowered his glass down, fingers shaking as he moved his hands to his lap, to his gun. "May I inquire what this is about?" Jack asked, fingers curling around the hilt of the gun. "Wouldn't if I were you, Geoff's got a quick reaction rate, he'll split your head in two before you have time to draw that gun, I bet you don't even know how to _use_ it properly. You're a good man Pattillo, let's stay that way."

He averted his gaze, but his hand never strayed from the fire-arm, he wasn't about to be left completely stranded. And he knew full well he was outnumbered, starting a fight in the Strange bar wouldn't be any help, everyone would demolish Jack for destroying the sacredness of the bar or something along those lines. "Are you going to answer my question any time soon?"

Finally the other male spoke up, his voice sounding more high pitched than Jack had originally intended. Actually, it sounded like he was trying to sound scary and rough, raspy and all, because the first word he spoke cracked and skyrocketed into a higher pitch. "That's a-" He broke off, clearing his throat and averting his now shame filled gaze. "That's a good question, what _is_ this about."

But it was much too late, Jack wasn't taking them seriously anymore, they were both retarded. Standing from the bar, he drops a twenty onto the table before walking off. He was around the same height as the man in the tuxedo, but he was much more burlier, the strength he possessed was ten fold to the two of them combined. Still, the smaller of the two was determined, and he shoved his way in front of Jack before he had a chance to push open the door. Growling, he narrows his eyes to the man. "Wait! Before you up and decide not to take us any serious, _listen._ Yeah, we're not your run-of-the-mill sorta crew, and we bugger a lot of things up, but so do _you_."

"Gavin's right, and you know it, you're sentenced to life imprisonment for doing little more than serving your country. You didn't think the price to pay for something so _selfless_ would be a cold stone confinement. But _we_ can get you out of that, and _you_ know we're telling the truth. You just have to _trust_ us enough to help you out-"

" _Black-market dealings are illegal._ I will be _dammed_ before I _ever_ do something so scandalous." Jack turned finally, regarding the male before him with a hate-filled gaze of disgust and repugnance. To think, as if, he would _never_ , he wouldn't succumb to the nature of them. "Hmm, so it seems you already _are."_

Jack hadn't been able to wipe them from his mind, the two of them, they'd rang a hard bargain, and he was desperate at this point. Actually, it was much too late to be desperate, all he knew was that he was waiting in an interrogation room to sign himself over to life imprisonment. No trial. No jury. No judge. No hope.

His eyes, crestfallen, gazed down towards the steel table below him. The world seemed to be tipping and tilting, swirling away beneath him. He had spent the entire night awake doing what he loved most, _doing for others._ And it had sickened him, how many people recoiled from his aiding hand or kind smile, everyone _feared_ him as if he had actually done any of the horrid things written about him. It was why there was no need for a court session, because he would automatically be written down as _guilty._

Guilty for _what?!_ He slammed his fists onto the table, wrists bound together by an uncomfortably tight pair of handcuffs. It was ridiculous at this point, even if he _had_ agreed to them and was out living a life as a free man he had nowhere to go and even worse still, he'd be given an enormously impossible debt to pay off. It was how snakes like them got their money, it was how _all_ the gangs in Los Santos were. He couldn't even remember how he had landed himself a life in such a shitty place, because he couldn't think of his life taking such a bad turn. His fingers unconsciously tightened around themselves, curling and uncurling a fist every two seconds. Anxious was an understatement.

He didn't think that prison would be the death of him, he had handled much harder tasks in his life than unruly cellmates, he just didn't ever think for a second his parents would stop looking down from the heavens on him. ' _Give me a sign_ ' he pleaded. ' _Give me a way out, and I swear I'll take it, show me a better life, please'_.

It was then that the lights cut off, there was frantic shouting heard from outside of the room, but Jack was unable to get up and help anything. Then the door swung open, and in strolled the same tuxedo-man from the bar. The dim lighting helped with nothing, and in a fleeting moment the darkness faded a dull flickering light giving him better view of the man. He was old, like Jack, with unruly black curls and a comically groomed mustache. He looked like the type of person Jack might have gone out to have a couple of beers with, but there was something sinister and crazy gleaming behind his eyes, something dark and evil that in a way completed his mob boss look to give him a terrifying sort of edge. An edge he was lacking the previous night.

He dipped his head in Jack's general direction, none too focused, as he turned and shut the door behind him before carelessly taking a seat. Anyone to so openly stroll into a police department, while being _wanted_ was insane. "This your doing?" Jack asked, eyes brooding as he met the steel gray eyes of the man before him. "No." He replied coolly. "It's actually my associate, Gavin's, doing. He's skilled on a computer, wouldn't be able to tell by the way he plays video games. The name's Geoff by the way, mainly because it doesn't matter what you know at this point. You have two options, and don't think we'll chase you down in a maximum security prison to get you, that takes _true_ desperation. First option."

He propped his feet up on the table, hands folding against his stomach as he smiled languorously. "You listen to our previous offer and accept. Or" Shrugging noncommittally, he laughs a little. "You don't and the police escort you to your new home."

Jack's eyes raised towards the ceiling momentarily, wishing he could see a glimpse of his mother or father, but he was certain this was as far as they could take him. "Okay, speak."

"We're an up and coming crew called the Fake AH Crew, Fakes for short. Long story short, Burnie and his RT Crew treated me like shit and now I'm teaching them a lesson. Unfortunately, not many people want to join an unknown gang, and I don't _want_ just _anyone_. I want only the _best_. But on top of that, I want us to be a fucking family, one where we all _actually_ care about each other's backs. I saved Gavin's life, from himself of course, but still counts. And I'm trying to save yours from yourself. Gavin and I... We're good alone, but he's... He's become like a _son_ to me, you gotta understand why I can't ever fathom the idea of having him so close to the danger zone without more back-up. I need more protection, I need a way to make sure everyone is okay. I've got myself, and a hacker slash good ass driver, you can fly planes- _all of them_ \- and you can build shit. Like _all kinds of shit._ And I mean, _look at you!_ You're a fucking _tank_! You're _huge_! I bet you can slam a bitch like me down and not even break a god-damn sweat!" He paused for a moment, bringing the front of the chairs legs back to the ground as he lowered his own legs back there as well. "What I'm trying to say is that your life doesn't _have_ to be shit, Jack, let me show you a better one."

Jack raised his hands up, glancing down at the chains. He could hear a static voice from the walkie-talkie on Geoff's belt- the British one frantically demanding Geoff get out within twenty seconds. He didn't have a long time to decide anymore, and really what decision was there. He could _see_ it, see how they were closer. It was notable last night in the bar, when Geoff had failed to reach out to Gavin in time before he'd launched himself in front of Jack, the way Geoff had an eye on the lad like a hawk, he was prepared to go into battle already for his crew mate- and in a fascinating way it was touching. Jack glanced back at Geoff, sitting on the edge of his seat, and then solemnly nodded. Geoff's smile only darkened, his eyes twinkling with mischief and an eagerness not contained at all. " _Welcome to the Fake AH Crew..."_


	5. Chapter 3

_Michael_

The streets knew his name, everyone knew his name, or so it seemed. He was a wanted man, just the way he liked it, but it hadn't always been that way. Michael had always thought of himself as more of a mobster than anything, such class in the dangerous tip of their hats, and the way they seemed to always have guns on their body when needed. They were violent and professional war machines that took without asking, and Michael adored them fully. He'd been raised in a rough enough environment, his father was a drunk and mother a whore- quite literally actually. Every night she would dress up all pretty and sell herself down, finding a swift solace in drugs. Michael had watched her tear herself apart in every possible way, and he'd been sickly fascinated by that.

His father was the type of man to hit whenever he was angry, and Michael was always the source of his anger. He swore on constant that Michael wasn't his child, and Michael never once believed that he could possibly be. There were more than one stark differences in him and his father, it was what made that fact more prominent. The only thing in common they seemed to share was a quick anger. Michael had been primarily raised by the television, it was where he learned about gangsters and mobsters, and it's when he learned what he wanted most in life.

It wasn't too large of a shock when his mother finally passed away, found beaten and raped in a back alleyway not too far from where Michael lived. His father was soon charged with the murder and was arrested on the claims. That was when Michael was sent off to live in foster homes, but nobody wanted the prostitutes angry child, nobody could handle all the baggage he had trailing behind him. So he made himself stronger so that he didn't _have_ to depend on someone else to get that baggage around. Sometime he thought of his beginning, but for the most part he preferred to avoid the thought of it. There was a weird kind of sentiment found in thoughts revolving around his past.

The door swung open, snapping him from his reverie. His eyes narrowed in an eerie light as a man stumbled in, blood seeping past a large gash in his side, he looked ragged and scared out of his mind- Michael usually liked that look, but not today. Standing up from his spot behind a crumbling wooden desk, he swiftly approaches the male in a few quick strides. "Johnson?! What the fuck is going on?!" He knelt himself before the crumpled man, watching the way he coughed and wheezed for breaths.

Again, usually he'd be fascinated by the weakness in another person, but today wasn't the day. "He came out of nowhere, he was _so fast._ I _tried_ but-"

"Failed me?" Michael finished for him, posing it as a question, but the snarl from his throat and savage curl of his lip spoke of it being more rhetorical than anything else. He shoved away from the dying man, instead turning to slam his foot against the desk, watching it crack straight in half and crash to the floor. This was beginning to irritate the fuck out of him, every shipment he sent out or every man he sent to retrieve what was his was slayed down or scared shitless. He'd already lost half of his fleet, and was through the days losing more and more at alarming rates. When the name had first hit Michael's ears he hadn't given two shits, he couldn't have possibly cared less if he tried, but obviously the other person _did_ care. " _Vagabond._ " He growled, eyes flaring darkly with a restrained sort of hatred.

Since the first day his men were attacked Michael began looking more into the man, finding nothing but alternate variations of his name. _The Mad Mercenary, Shadow Assassin, Black Skull, Death's Deputy-_ They all meant the same thing, _Vagabond._ Michael began loathing the very word, and had actually ordered by proclamation that his men couldn't utter any variation of the name- kinda like Voldemort for Harry. Michael enjoyed that little additive, but otherwise found that the man was a nuisance that his own men seemed too weak to take care of.

A sigh broke through the silence, and Michael turned to look at the male who was still bleeding out on his floor. He was a mess, and Michael was incapable of being the leader they needed. He could always continue on, but he was simply leading his men to death like pigs to slaughter- it was something he didn't want to do. It wasn't that Michael was unable to give a successful order, it was simply the fact that he couldn't give multiple successful orders, his brain wasn't wired to lead people. He would follow and blow up any opposers, but that was it for him. "Call off the troops. B.A.M.N is no longer."

He'd chosen the name _By Any Means Necessary_ when he'd watched a movie with one of his favorite Mob Bosses, watching the way he took over everything anywhere, owning anyone with all his power. He'd expressed through the movie that he would achieve his fame ' _by any means necessary'_ , and Michael had convinced himself that he wanted to be _just_ like that. He glanced out the window nearest to him, watching the way the world suddenly reflected all the decimation he felt inside. If he wasn't capable enough of being a mob boss, or even a mobster, then what use was he anymore?

 _The air was chilling, it didn't snow in Los Santos, but the temperature could drop very suddenly when it started to round towards winter. A large exhalation of breath followed by a puff of smokey-air alerted Michael onto the fact that it had, indeed, dropped down lower than usual. Growing up in New Jersey had granted him a sort of immunity towards cold weather, it was nothing here when it would storm snow and blizzards back where he'd grown up. He released a small sigh again, glancing towards his watch, this mission was simple, meet a man named Mr. Darcy. He knew full well that the name came from another book, some charismatic character or whatever, Michael hadn't read up on enough literature to be able to actually quote anything._

 _Still, whoever this man was, he was trying his luck. People didn't double cross Michael, nor did they make a fool of him. It wasn't so much that he was worried over the name and reputation of his crew, he was always more concerned with his own. If the crew fell then he'd have nowhere left to turn but to call it quits, if he managed to fuck up enough and his name was so soiled nobody would want to hire him. Pulling out a 38' caliber revolver, he frowns. Only four bullets left in the chamber. It was a pitifully small thing, but it was all he had been permitted to bring. That was, of course, assuming that he had stuck to his word. Which incidentally he hadn't. He was flanked with men heavily armed, and shoved into two holsters under his arms (cloaked in darkness by his trenchcoat) were two regular pistols with an AK hooked behind him and for extra measures a small grenade hidden under his bowl hat._

 _A smirk tilted up his lips as a car pulled itself up in front of him, his fingers reaching up to pluck the toothpick he'd been chewing on away from his lips as he stepped forward to greet the man. "Mr. 'Darcy' is it?" He asked, and the man responded with a small nod as he turned to asses the area._

 _They'd met at a loading dock, large crates surrounding them. That was Darcy's first mistake, choosing such an area where hiding men was easier than blinking. Still, he looked totally at ease. It sent a chill down Michael's back. He was well aware that this man had power, he'd been the one taking down his crew mates, but he looked like nothing more than a pretty boy. Fair skin and ebony hair without a strand out of place, he didn't look like any form of a challenge- and the mere sight of him was insulting to Michael. How could his crew fall apart so easily at the hands of a wannabe like this?!_

 _He bit back on a sneer, instead extending his hand out to the man with rigid composure. "Michael Jones, boss of B.A.M.N, the crew_ you've _been taking out. I suppose we're going to form a compromise of sorts then?"_

 _Darcy tore his gaze back to Michael, narrowed gray eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're the largest running crew in the area, so I have no doubt that you're powerful, and that me requesting you to silence yourself is foolish, as well as if I tried to use my reasoning. You do not see us as equals, Michael, but you as superior and I inferior. My words hold no merit, do they now?"_

 _"I guess if you're already well aware of this, then the time for talking can end." He stated rather bluntly, cocking out his own gun and aiming straight between the mans eyes. He was a better shot when using explosives, there was something about a fire engulfing another person that always left him reeling and clawing for more. The sight, the scent, the sound, the pure feeling he'd get- it was ecstasy at it's finest possible point. He'd seen before his own team-mates get sucked into what they enjoy most at work, and at times he had questioned what joy they can get from simply pulling the trigger to a gun. No, his work had to all be by his own hands, he loved it. "So brash, now why would you go and ruin such a nice talk? I have a proposal after all."_

 _"Fine, talk, but if you take too fucking long I might get bored." Michael waved the gun around, glinting menacingly in the moonlight. Maybe this Darcy character hadn't been smart enough to load up on back-up. Michael couldn't stop the snicker that fell past his lips, why did people insist on making everything so much easier than he liked?_

 _"Okay." He began slowly, his fingers settling into the pockets of his coat as he observed his situation. Michael had partially yearned for the trace of fear to shine through his eyes, he was irritatedly disappointed to realize that this man held none. He wasn't afraid whatsoever and that was never a good thing. "So you surrender, call your team off, and nobody gets hurt. Because I promise you I am the stronger opponent. You're not a real leader, Michael. Watching all those 'gangster' movies can never prepare you for the real thing-" Michael blanched a second, eyes widening. He'd never told anyone about the real reason he had started this, nor had he ever allowed that information to be available anywhere, but then again, he was certain that his skills on a computer were lacking, so it's not like he could ever obliterate himself from the world like that._

 _"-But you are a good asset, you have skills when it comes to explosives, nobody else can wire a bomb the way you can. I have a place ready for you to accept, if you wish, but not the rest of your crew. You can survive all this, but I will not take in your failed rejects. How's that sound?" His grip on the gun had increased substantially, eyes glowering with barely controlled rage. He took a step forward, jabbing the gun right underneath the males jaw. "Don't you EVER fucking talk about MY TEAM LIKE THAT AGAIN FUCKFACE."_

 _He hesitated as a noise played over the intercom, like a sudden exhalation of breath: his crew was being wiped out. The second he drew back the gun an explosion went off. It held none of the flair or style or even the majesty that Michael's had, but it got the job done- sloppily albeit. He jerked back as debris fell around him, hearing gunshots ring out from every direction, screams from his crew and then a name was clearly heard. "Vagabond."_

 _He glanced in the direction of Darcy, watching his cackling figure, howling with laughter at this point as the fire descended around them. Snarling he takes a step forward, prepared to do violent things to this man, when a hand yanked him back- weightlessly lifting him into the air to unceremoniously toss him aside like a broken toy._ That _was his first view of the man, of the monster, of the Mad Mercenary. "That's MR. Mad Mercenary to you."_

 _The figure stated, looking to Michael with piercingly blue eyes that looked unnaturally colored. Michael hadn't even known that he'd uttered that aloud, the shock evident on his features. He glowered, shoving himself back up onto his feet, of course his team had been outnumbered, they were all amateurs, the Vagabond was a mercenary God. Drawing his own gun, he points it at the male, knowing full well that the last thing he'd be able to do was pull the trigger. "Wait-" Darcy spoke suddenly, hand flying out before the Vagabond had the chance to spring into battle._

 _The fire around them illuminated the scene in a sort of hellish glow, making each of them look like angels of Hell, creatures of the night, it was disturbingly fascinating. The light flickered their shadows, casting them larger than life, Michael would usually delve in this part, when everything began to burn around him, but in the presence of the Mad King he hardly had the time to pause. "-Don't kill him, my pet, just detain him."_

 _Michael's eyes widened. Not only had he_ hired _the Vagabond, but he_ owned _the Vagabond. He'd heard all the stories, all the tales of the ruthless monster that the Vagabond was, the way he could so easily diminish the most feared of crime bosses into a sniveling little brat, he'd seen the devastation left in the cities that he'd owned. But his territory was New York to Florida, Georgia being his main, so Michael couldn't understand for the life of him why he was even here. He didn't give himself anymore seconds of thoughts, falling into the fluidity of battle swiftly._

 _The Vagabond got the first hit, he didn't assume that he'd be able to throw a punch faster than the one already prepared for battle. His fist collided with Michael's jaw swiftly, knocking the sight out of him as he was thrown down to the ground. Deftly he sprung his leg out, knocking his attacker off balance until he fell to a knee. Springing back up he slams his own knee into the Vagabond's face, cursing the mask for the extra protection it undoubtedly did. It wasn't anything metal, still only a flimsy plastic, but it was more than this man deserved._

 _There was a ringing in his ears and a sound of popping, and he knew that it had been from the blow, but it was entirely disorienting. Drawing out his gun, he points it to the mercenary's face, glaring darkly through the blood that spattered like freckles against his face. "Really? That's what the great Vagabond has to offer?"_

 _"No." The man replied coolly, eyes alight with a demonic sort of glow. "I was just giving you some satisfaction, I'm right where I need to be." Michael had no reaction time, he knew he should have just pulled the trigger, but his hesitation had been great. Nobody had ever claimed to get the Vagabond down to his knees, so of course there was a swell of pride and sense of achievement, which was inevitably his downfall. All he could remember was feeling a slicing pain through the wrist of his gun hand, then another splicing through his shoulder after he was shoved paces back. He'd seen the way the males body had curled, the knife that had glinted through the fire, which was now embedded in the tendons surrounding his shoulder, it was an unrealistic sort of pain, because the serrated edge was made more for skinning animals rather than throwing._

 _He heard the clatter of his gun as it hit the concrete, then the sound of his own body thudding against the ground, then laughter. A violent sort of rich laughter full of mirth and enjoyment, a sick sort of wicked pleasure being taken. He could hear his own broken groans of agony as a hand reached up, struggling to wrench the knife free. The edges clung to his tendons, tugging muscle apart and shredding veins, Michael couldn't really hear himself scream through it- but his throat was dry and scratchy when he took in the next wheezing gasping breaths. The knife was still securely in place, he didn't have the strength to rip it all out, it hurt much too badly._

 _"Need a hand?" The voice was husky, obviously bruised from battle, but the hand holding him down was certain- and the one pulling the knife from his shoulder was even more so. This time he heard his own scream clearly as he rolled over onto his side, clutching his shoulder with shaking and ragged cries of pain. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of any real tears, but it hurt, so badly. His arm was coated in blood, some from his wrist and the rest from his shoulder, he felt like he'd leapt into a pool full of the substance. There was a rough kick to his side, bruising pain spiraling through his body, but he didn't have the heart to cry out again or even react, he felt more numb than anything, which was probably the worst of all. "Think about my offer, Michael, you're worth much more than what you give yourself credit for."_

 _Through bleary eyes, he watched as Darcy snapped, the Vagabond instantly reappearing at his side with all of Michael's guns and his own knives. Michael lowered his head to the cold concrete, unable to lift his head anymore or even keep his eyes pressed open. So instead he succumbed to the exhaustion that swept over him like a deathly and dark veil..._

He'd woken the next day to a sharp pang on his left, the dream he'd recalled still plastered to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't even remember when he had fallen asleep, but if the bottle lying next to him was anything to go by it was probably hours ago. There was the strong tang of alcohol in his mouth, and he groaned in disgust. He was an absolute mess. Rolling onto his side, he tried his hardest not to pierce himself with the broken shards of the remnants of his desk. It was more a difficult process than he had imagined it would be, through his sleep he'd basically woven himself into the wooden fragments.

After finally managing to stumble out, he lifts up the emptied bottle, chucking it against the far wall. It was a minimal sort of amazement, the glass shattering like that, but it gave him the enjoyment he desperately needed right then. His shirt rode up slightly on him and he turned when he heard the sound of a barely muffled squeak. With speeds he'd hardly known he possessed, Michael advanced on the newcomer- relishing in the sound of despair they made as their back slammed into a far wall.

Through wiry hair and squinted eyes, Michael observed them. They were a lanky sort of person, dusty blonde hair falling over brilliantly green eyes staring back at him wide with fear and slight interest and something else. Was it… _attraction?!_ Michael growled a little. "Who the fuck are you?!"

He tightened his grip on the male when he squirmed, eyes hardening even more. This fucker had no idea who he was creeping up on, and he wasn't about to show any kindness to him. "You're Michael Jones, leader of B.A.M.N?"

Michael snarled, a dry and humorless laugh bubbling up from the depths of his throat. This must have just been another ploy from Darcy and his dog, make Michael regret and miss his crew to agony, and he would, but the safest thing was to retire, it was the worst thing he could ever imagine doing. But the Vagabond was ruthless and wouldn't stop, he mowed his men down left and right, faster than Michael could keep up with. And although Michael had gotten stronger and better at holding his own against the Mad Mercenary, his crew was a completely different subject. Tugging his gun from the waistband of his jeans, he slams it up underneath the newcomers jaw, relishing in the flash of panic that crossed his face. "Yeah and you're dead."

He didn't hesitate to click the safety off, however he did pause when the male started babbling incessantly. Slamming the gun harder into him, hard enough that his head hit painfully against the wall, he growls as he leans closer. " _What the fuck are you even saying?!"_

The British lad cleared his throat, taking in a calming breath. Somehow that immediately calmed him, because all traces of fear vanished, instead replaced with a charming smirk. "I was _saying_ that I admire your work. Geoff doesn't know I'm here, he'd lose his shit if he did, thinks I need _extra protection_ or whatever. But Jack is outside waiting on me to return, it wouldn't be wise of you to upset both the Catalyst _and_ the Beard. I think you ought to lower the gun and hear me out _pretty boy~"_

Michael scowled in disgust, but he lowered the gun nevertheless. He'd never heard of the Beard or the Catalyst, but he knew better than to piss off another gang when he himself was currently gangless. "Hurry up, I'm fucking bored."

"Join us. You're a master pyrotechnician. You would make an excellent member. As of late, you let your team go, the fear of the Vagabond's fury. But he can't touch you with us, nobody came, we're bloody perfect. I can even clear your name, make you _electronically untouchable."_

Michael loosened his grip a fraction, eyes narrowed in disbelief. The wide web was a vastly confusing and ever-growing territory that he wouldn't be foolish enough to trek into. But if this person was telling him he _was_ daring enough... Tightening his grip again, he glares darkly. "I don't fucking-"

"Believe me, I know you don't. Here." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a shimmering gold card, with silver shiny letters and a just as shiny silver outline. It looked incredibly gaudy and too flashy for Michael's taste, but he supposed that was what was considered fancy in this day and age. He looked down at the name on the card, ' _Golden Boy'_ written in a beautiful Edwardian Script type of font. A phone number was listed below it as well. "Shine the card under a black light and my _real_ phone number will appear, I'm not foolish, I drop these _all_ the time. I'd have been arrested if not for the black light step. You can feel free to call me at _any_ time for _any_ reason handsome."

Michael shivered under the males gentle touch, fingers tracing down the center of his chest before vanishing- leaving him yearning for more. Was he really that easy to manipulate? He blamed it on the male before him, clearly he had a way with words.

He didn't bother stopping him as he turned and left the room, leaving a bewildered looking Michael staring after him. Gazing down at the card again he huffs, ' _Golden Boy'_. The only name he was given. One he knew he was about to chase down.

It only took one day for him to send in the text that he knew would seal his fate forever. And he hadn't even really been in the right mind-space. But emerald eyes haunted him, and that stupid British lilt, there was something in it... In the offer, it was something he would be stupid to pass up. He needed new work, and if he could be protected from the Vagabond while working, then he would take up that offer.

It's what led him to be standing alone in an alleyway, senses high and eyes scanning the premises. The sound of footsteps, lone and quiet, roused his suspicions. The shoes were heavy and fancy in a sort, nothing like the ones he'd known Golden Boy had been wearing. Turning himself around, he narrows his eyes slightly. A male, older and taller than him, stood there dressed up like he were late for his own god-damn wedding- fitted in a tux and all. There were tattoos entangled on his fingers and hands, and Michael held no doubts that they carried on further, the only other distinguishing feature on him was his handlebar mustache which would look amusing if it weren't for the way he confidently carried himself like he _knew_ he could take down the world with style and flair. "Michael Jones!"

He bellowed, and Michael near leapt out his skin at the loudness of it all, it was like he was trying to get the rest of the world to hear. "Yep, that's me, standing two _fucking feet away."_ He hissed through gritted teeth, tugging his hat down lower on his head, auburn curls crushing before his darkened gaze. "Ragequit, I'm so pleased to have the opportunity to-"

" _Why are you yelling so loudly?!"_ The male hesitated before pulling a wire free from the cuff of his tuxedo jacket, it was mangled and dismembered, but it was clearly a microphone. "I broke it on the way over, I'm trying to make sure that Gavin and Jack know what's going on-"

" _What?!"_ The male from earlier, Golden Boy, traipsed out, flaunting a more dulled sort of look that still made him look more dazzling than diamonds. His shirt was heavy and black, jeans a pristine white, the only thing really douche-baggy on him was the heavy sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. "God fucking _dammit_ Geoff, this shit cost a _lot_ of fucking money and I _told_ you not to drink before coming out here because you'd stumble and inevitably _trip_. Bloody mingebag plonker!" The Geoff character looked otherwise unperturbed by Golden Boy's insults and the rude way in which he swiped away the microphone.

They continued bickering however, Michael just standing and staring in awe at that. There was a fondness between them that was hard to find, like the way that a father might fight with his son over their favorite football team, which was unusual because despite the fact that Golden Boy was clearly younger he couldn't have been more than ten years apart from him. A voice boomed out from behind him, deep and chilling, it sounded perfectly reminiscent to the Vagabond actually. "Boys. Do the deal."

He whipped around, staring wide eyed at-... A large man in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis with a curly red beard. He wasn't at _all_ the Vagabond, nor could he have ever been. Michael's mouth dropped, the voice had been nearly identical to that of the Mad King, he could have sworn. "Right." Geoff cleared his throat, drawing Michael's attention back. "Thanks Jack-"

Michael could only deduct from that the name of Golden Boy _had_ to be 'Gavin', a name he had literally never heard up until then. "-Michael, we want you to join the Fakes. We'd be delighted to have such a skilled pyrotechnician, that is if what Gavin here says about you is true. We don't need rookies, we need the master outcasts that know their own trade back and forth and upside down. Is that you?"

Michael, for the first time in awhile, narrowed his eyes again, a spark of indignation burning through his gaze like a wildfire setting alight trees slicked in oil. "Are you questioning my ability to construct the most perfect incendiary device you could ever imagine?" He took a challenging step forward, laughing huskily under his breath as if the mere thought of him messing up anything remotely near the topic of explosives was purely fictional and an impossibly slim possibility. "If you're looking for a knock-off, a little bitch to give you grade A horse shit that looks pretty and decently gets the job done, then you might as well fuck off. What you get here is a canister, a fuse, and a match. I'll give you shit you can only dream up, and then I'll exceed _those_ expectations. I make devices torn from the deepest most fucked up places of a persons mind, and then I twist them into living nightmares, everything I make is an art, and it's not a pretty one either. It's sloppy and messy and avante garde, it's everything a mob boss should avoid, because as quantity goes it won't be large, but the quality will be perfection. So yeah, if you need a boss to take over making an incendiary device, then you found one right here, but if you want a bitch to play by the rules, then well..." He shrugged his shoulders gracefully with careless fluidity. "I can't help you with that."

There was a fascinated smile on Gavin's face, he could clearly read that there, and a wickedly dark smirk on Geoff's lips, the only one he couldn't clearly read was Jack who looked stone cold and focused. "I like him Geoff, he's like his own bombs, _unpredictable._ How _dangerous._ This ones a bit of a nutter now isn't he?"

"Agreed, he's the one Geoff. You'll never get another shot at this." Jack spoke up, voice still sending unwanted chills down Michael's spine. Geoff stood in place, eyes regarding Michael with mildly controlled excitement, as if he were still trying to play off the indecisive role when Michael could clearly tell he'd been accepted. "And here I though _you_ needed _us."_ Geoff started with a laugh, taking a slight step closer to Michael. "Other way around I see, well Michael." He held out his hand, a maniacal glint in his dark eyes, and poorly placed malice in his wicked grin. " _Welcome to the Fake AH Crew."_


	6. Chapter 4

_Ray_

The desert floor was scorching hot to the touch, the sun scalding above and baking it at a comfortable 200 degrees. Ray couldn't stop his sarcastic smile, ignoring the pooling sweat slicking his shirt tight against his back. He usually wasn't found in simply a t-shirt, his purple jacket was sacred to him, but he couldn't afford to pass out now. Los Santos was a city that was a little _too much_ for the 'infamous' Brownman, but the desert outside it and the citizens around there were fair game. The police were always slow to come to the rescue, it was like they didn't even mind the prospect of crime out here, survival of the fittest and Ray was one of the fittest. Since a young age he'd always had a keen eye, great with observations and quick with a gun. It wasn't shocking when he decided to pick up his first sniper rifle and fire off a few shots at the birds nesting high above in the trees- dead shots each and every one of them. He and a couple of other orphaned children started a 'gang' of sorts. The ' _Guerreros'._ They had become feared throughout the land they possessed, and Ray couldn't have asked for much more.

Wealth was minimal, even being the top dogs they were the land they chose to inhabit still had little to no resources ripe for the picking. Ray had really been the only one asking to move to higher grounds, he had been dreaming of the city and just itching for a reason to go. Unfortunately loyalty to him was worth more than a pitiful dream that would most likely fail. He just knew that he didn't have to live such a meaningless life, he could become so much more than that. His eyes lifted to the sky, watching a few leaves blow eastward. He would have to take all of that into perspective when firing off his gun, if the wind picked up too much his aim would be off and the whole thing would go south. Shifting a little on the searing concrete, he swears fluently. Why did they chose to take so long when it was hot out?

During the winter, when Ray _preferred_ to go out, they would be in and out in seconds flat, but whenever the expense was at the cost of _Ray's_ comfort they would take their time. Sometimes Ray couldn't admire his leader, it was too difficult when it seemed his leader was hating him at every turn. If Ray weren't such a great shot he was sure he would have lost his spot on the team. He had known that team since birth though, they'd been the offspring of his parents friends, and he had not only been forced but had actually _wanted_ to be their friend. Ray wasn't the best with words, he couldn't really speak Spanish well just like he couldn't with English. It seemed that he was just inept when it came to it. He had watched his team-mates on countless occasions pick up people and dates with such a smoothness in their words that Ray himself had almost swooned. He was the complete opposite, he knew how to simply say what he wanted and either get shot down or accepted, more or less he was shot down. Another smile curved it's way against his lips, he remembered the first time he hadn't been shot down had been by a large burly man with tattoos on his face. Ray had been less attracted and more threatened by the hulking beast of a man, but he had also been wasted so he would have done a woman if the chance had presented itself to him.

A sigh spilled past his lips, eyes drawing upwards to the clouds again. The sky looked so full of opportunity to Ray, so free and unbinding, it was a place that Ray wouldn't mind seeing one day. He had never been fortunate enough to fly in a plane, or sit co-pilot in someone's helicopter, he was always stuck on the ground. It wasn't so much that he minded it, he just always had dreams and wondered if he would ever be able to see at least one of them get accomplished. His eyes lowered back to the ground, glaring it down as if it were the cause of all his suffering. It wasn't, and he knew that. The world hated him, but it seemed like they had never given him a chance. He was orphaned at a young age, and even the orphanage didn't seem to care where the children ran off to.

It was never a lonely life for him though, he always thought of himself as privileged and lucky. It wasn't like he were facing any kinds of abuse or anything truly terrible, he was lucky to have found such a generous group and such an incredible talent that would more or less bring him up to easy _enough_ street. There were some kids trying on his shoes that couldn't even get a good job done without ending up in jail, Ray had been alive for years now and had lived by the code of loyalty to his gang, and due to them he was still alive today. He knew that it was silly to think of his past so often, but it was like a ringing bell, this terrible constant reminder that his upbringing had been just as smooth as his life now, which was not at _all._

This heist was supposed to fix that, they were supposed to hit easy street through this. So long as everything went accordingly he would be cut loose and set to live out the rest of his days as a wealthy entrepreneur. A smile locked permanently against his features, there was no other life he could ever imagine. This was it, he was twenty-five and dying to just have some sort of normalcy. He had been struggling his entire life, so he was a little more than antsy to get this job done and over with. He was also pleased that he would be able to move on in his life and open a new chapter. He could finally venture out into the city and see what was so incredible about it. His name would be cleared there, no city cop had heard of him, they left all of that to the rangers and sheriffs of the town.

He was tired of returning home every night to a trashy trailer car, and shitty neighbors, he wanted to be able to say that he worked for the greatness that he lived in. If everyone else could live in greatness then why couldn't he? Part of him wondered if instead of being a gang member, that if maybe he had been a hustler or a mercenary then maybe he could have made more money. He had been a mercenary for a few people, fighting their battles and getting paid for his miraculous jobs, but it hadn't been all that fulfilling. Sure the new faces and the fun scenarios were killer and worth it sometimes, but he always preferred returning home to familiar faces and safe grounds, he knew that made him weak and lame in many ways but familiar was just safer. At least that was what he had learned his entire life now.

His mind snapped back to his current predicament as the doors to the bank swung open. He watched through his scope as his team poured through the doors, swearing and shooting at random bystanders and innocent passerby's. Ray couldn't keep the look of shock from reading on his face, something had gone wrong, meaning _'easy street'_ would have to wait. He followed down the street a little through his scope, watching as piles and piles of vans and cop cars started chasing each other down the dusty roads. " _Brownman, Brownman come in! The shit was set up, the shit was set up, we're fucked!"_

Ray jumped slightly, pulling out his walkie-talkie in a rushed mess. "Diego what _happened?!_ " Ray demanded, the worry in his voice hardly hidden. He tugged out his sniper, aiming for a few seconds before he began firing at the oncoming officers. It was a hard job most of the time, Ray was much more for wounding the officers than straight up killing them. They were honest people with good families just trying to keep the streets safe, he honored and respected that. " _Get off the roof! Get off the roof Brownman!"_

Again he jumped, looking to the walkie-talkie. Was his position compromised? Standing up, he stomps on their communications before sliding off the back ledge of the roof. The area was overtaken by officers, and not just the county sheriffs, but police men and women from the city as well. He blinked his eyes against the shining guns and the dust whipping around from the blades of the helicopter. He was surrounded, and his team would undoubtedly flee the scene before trying to scrape up casualties. " _Put your hands above your head_ _ **now**_."

Ray lowered his sniper to the ground numbly, he had never really expected to go out like this. He had always imagined that he would blaze it for the last time and that would be his untimely demise, never that a heist would go wrong and he would be taken into a prison or worse, _executed._ The sound of a motorcycle momentarily drowned out the sound of the helicopter and the cops shouting. A sleek black Pegassi drove past him, hurling tons and tons of smoke in the air. Ray couldn't see through the thickness of it but he could hear explosions and gun shots along with the revving of an engine. He took a timid step forward, wading through the smoke when a large white van came halting to a stop in front of him. The back doors swung open, a hulking man stepping out. "Hey what's-?!" He was cut off by a sack being tossed over his head. Instantly he started fighting, but he knew that he was _way_ weaker than the man before him. He felt himself tossed weightlessly into the van, crashing down against it harshly with a groan. He heard his weapon tossed beside him, and then heard the screeching of wheels as the van jolted and rumbled down the street.

He didn't dare remove the sack over his head, he was afraid that if he did he might get shot. So instead he complied, lying motionlessly on the floor, just listening to the people. "Gavin great motorcycle riding, that smoke cloaked the place _perfectly_." One voice said, then a muffled British tone came over the radio. It was too quiet for him to be able to hear, so he gave up on that. "I'm surprised it was _that_ easy, eh Jack?"

"Just say all our names Michael, why don't you?"

"That's _enough_ you two, quit bickering while we have a guest. I'll bet you didn't even offer him a drink of any kind." He listened as the two men sniggered, feeling a shiver run down his spine. It was frightening to believe that this would be his end now. As far as he was concerned, he had never upset another gang, he had always done every job he was given to the fullest potential, and he had never had a disgruntled customer. He moved his hands before himself, placed against the cold and bumpy surface of the vans floor, he just needed to prepare himself for an attack. He breathed in, quietly in failed attempts to relax himself. Through all his concentration he was unaware of the feel of the van slowing to a stop and the door being pulled open. He thrashed wildly as someone yanked him back off the floor, so much for a secret attack. Fists went flying everywhere, and he felt his own connect with a face, probably the nose, before he was shoved down onto the harsh dusty ground.

Scrambling to a sitting position he yanks off the sack, his face was sweaty and now covered in dirt and grime, but he hardly noticed it above the feeling of intense fear. He was going to fight till the very end that was for sure. His vision cleared, and first he noticed a grassy ground with sunlight breaking through tall trees. Birds dipped low from the sky, diving towards earth only to pull up at the last possible moment, the scene was pretty if it weren't for the people looming over him. One of them was perched on a motorcycle, still shutting it off, his face disguised by the black lensed helmet he wore. Ray watched as he pulled it off, golden brown hair toppling before strikingly green eyes that mixed perfectly with a killer smile. He took note of the person directly beside him, larger in bulk with curly reddish-brown hair, freckles, and brown eyes. He looked like a force to be reckoned with, and Ray didn't want to reckon with him. Then he looked to the male he had actually _hit._ He was a large man with a red beard and a head full of just as red hair. He was dressed more casually than the others, a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. "W-Who-"

He broke off as a male stepped out of the van. Ray had to distinguish him as the leader, he was dressed so properly. His suit looked heavy, and Ray held no doubt that there was a bulletproof vest underneath. He smiled, teeth blazing white from underneath his mustache, and dark eyes glinting with malice and utter enjoyment. Tattoos littered his fingers and circled his wrists leading Ray to believe that the designs continued under the suit. "Ray Narvaez Jr. You're a hard one to catch, always miles away from the scene of the crime seconds after it ends. I guess it helps that your team perches you so high up away from actual confrontation. But according to Jack-" He paused, his eyes lazily sliding over to the bearded male who was still rubbing at the spot that Ray had struck. "-You've got a little fire in you, don't you?"

Ray scoffed, sounding almost disgusted with the person in front of him. He still hadn't bothered to stand from the ground, he doubted his feet would hold him right then even if he tried at it. His eyes scanned the premises again, landing on the duo beside the motorcycle again. The blonde looked like a complete douchebag, but Ray was sure that if he stood a chance against anyone it would be him. "Don't even think about it dude, just listen to Geoff. You're not getting outta here till we _say_ you can."

Ray jumped a little when the male beside the blonde spoke, brown eyes narrowed in a dark light of distaste and distrust. His dusty brown hair fell in curls before his hate filled gaze, and his mouth was drawn downward as if he were tasting something foul. Ray felt insulted. He returned his gaze onto 'Geoff' who he assumed would probably be their leader. "Listen, Ray, I want you to join us-"

"My team-!" He started indignantly, silenced by the brunette from earlier taking a threatening step towards him. He never thought that his skills would be so widely wanted that he would ever be _forced_ to join a team. "Relax Michael." The British one began, his voice controlled and smooth as if he were handling a child. "Give the lad a rest."

Geoff laughed again, this time moving to crouch down in front of Ray. He didn't look as menacing up close. His mustache seemed too oddly cartoony for Ray to have been as scared as he was previously. He set his jaw stiffly, aiming a hateful glare at the male, if he thought that he was about to betray his team then he had another thing coming. "Listen Ray, you're 'team' was more than eager to-"

He broke off suddenly as Ray shot his fist out. The whole thing happened in a sort of slow motion. He could hear multiple intakes of breath and none of which were from the man before him, and then he could feel the soft earth being shoved against his face- or was his face being shoved against the earth instead? He blinked his vision a bit, he had been slammed down with enough force to crack his skull, and his glasses, but they hardly held importance in the situation. Geoff held him pinned to the ground, half amused and half afraid that he would never stop attacking. Ray succumbed though, there was something humiliating about being bested but there was something even _more_ humiliating when you couldn't accept being bested. Ray just wasn't fast enough, but he _was_ smart. He allowed his body to relax, seemingly giving up. "Ah, see, you're no match Ray. Just listen to me, okay?"

Ray grumbled into the dirt, spitting grass from between his teeth. It was so disgusting, he could taste more than just the gritty dirt, there was some sort of history of a decaying animal body here or maybe something even worse- animal _urine._ Internally he quaked. "Good, it's easy Ray. I want you to join my team." He began droning on and on, which gave Ray the opportunity to make his move. Swiftly he rolled out from underneath the man, sending a kick straight to his face faster than he could register. The blow landed and he heard a satisfying crunch before he pulled free his trusty Diamondback DB9. It was a sort of 'pocket pistol', one that easily slid into his sock and remained out of obvious sight. Despite it's small stature he knew, having it pressed right under Geoff's jaw, that it would kill the man if he pulled the trigger. He knew if he did it he would die shortly after seeing as the rest of the gang had pulled out their own guns, but Ray would have the satisfaction of knowing that he put their leader out of commission beforehand. He was shocked by the relaxation and utter amusement that coated Geoff's features, he looked like he were being straddled by a child with a water gun if anything. "Wait just a second Narvaez, kill me and you'll regret it for life. If you insist on not joining us _so strongly_ we'll simply let you go. What a _spitfire_ you are."

Ray hesitated a moment, then pulled the gun back just enough for Geoff to know his brains wouldn't be splattered on the grass in _that_ moment, but his body was still tense. He didn't trust himself to speak, whenever he was as tense and serious like he was in that moment his voice seemed to quiver as if he were unsure of himself- especially now it would too seeing as there were guns pointed all around him. "Okay then. Your team fled, they probably assume that you're dead. They weren't looking for you-"

"And still aren't. The cameras show that the most of them were apprehended, and the rest gave confessions to every name and household on the list. You've been sold out for a nicer sentence." Ray didn't have to look over his back to know that the British one had spoken, he could hear the consistent typing of a computer, that and the way someone clicked their bullet into the barrel. Ray's body was on fire, and it wasn't just due to the outdoor heat, he knew that the leader didn't like him but the fact that he so easily sold him out and then as well so easily drew back the troops. Doubts flared through Ray's mind, but he knew that these people had saved him, as well as he knew full well that he was in need of protection and a job in that moment. "That's right Ray, allow all the cogs and gears to churn, and realize that we're only trying to _help_ you, and ourselves, but that's technicalities there. It was _luck_ that your team ended up the way they did. Now you need to move on."

Ray rolled himself off of Geoff, shoving the mini gun into his pocket after clicking on the safety. Standing from the ground he sighs, fixing his broken glasses atop his face. No matter how much he disliked it, and _God_ did he dislike it, he was out of options. With a crooked smirk, he sighs a small pitiful noise of defeat. "Looks like you got yourself a Sniper, when do I start?"

Geoff was back on his feet, cackling with clear- and slightly insane- mirth. It left Ray rethinking his most recent life choices. "Right away, _welcome to the Fake AH Crew."_


	7. Chapter 5

" _Ryan"_

 _The voice was soft-spoken, but just the sound of it alone was enough to draw him deep into thoughts and fond-ish memories of his past. His mind drifted in between the conscious and unconscious realm until his thoughts completely consumed him. A white picket fence house with a large oak tree standing prominently abut the house, it was a common setting almost like the 'American Dream' sort of place. Rows and rows of flowers decorated the lawn and the sidewalk, and some pots sat behind shimmering windows. Ryan could almost hear his father playfully arguing with his mother about her fetish for flowers- any kind. He had once spotted her fondly caring for a wildflower, a weed, that caused a drought to all her other precious flowers. Ryan had never seen her flowers live long, it seemed that once a week she was replanting new ones, she had cursed him maliciously and blamed him for it all but as always he had remained as stoic as he was today._

 _It was fond enough for him, that was probably one of the better memories, he could recall hearing his parents talk to the pastor about him before when he had been forced to endure yet another hour or so of church. It had become a daily routine, he would get out of school- a christian boarding school- and head down to the church to take more classes and do even more bible studies. It had made him sick. His mother and father had sat in the Priests office, whispering about his silence, how apparently he had never cried as a baby and still to this day refuses to shed a tear. Ryan took pride in that, and always expected his parents to shower him with praise because of that, but they were afraid of him, and he knew that._

 _His days, as far as normal standards go, never followed a correct schedule. His mother tried to poison him on numerous occasions, and he always thought it was a game for him to try and figure out which plates had poison and which didn't, so he would giggle delightfully while pointing out the correct one. His father had once loaded a toy gun with actual bullets and tried to shoot him with it, but Ryan had watched him load the gun the night before and swapped his own with his fathers, thus ending his fathers chances of putting a bullet into his head. That was daily life for him though, and that was love. His fondest memory by far was the struggle he and his father had when his father had attempted to drown him in a tub, he had thoroughly enjoyed that. He'd laughed the entire time as his father spit venomous things back at him, it had all stopped when his mother came in crying about how she couldn't allow him to go through with it, his family was good at playing pretend._

 _But Ryan always knew internally that he was different from other kids, not just his upbringing, but his hobbies and the things he enjoyed as well. It was at sixteen that he finally snapped. He had been through many grueling years, and after his father killed himself, Ryan took to the same thing. Only he never attempted to hurt himself, only others. He had become such a burden at school that he had actually been kicked out of multiple ones, the only place he was still welcomed into was the church. The Priest had taken a fondness to Ryan, only it was the kind of fondness Ryan would rather him to have never taken. Over the years the Pastor had done enough to be considered a sexual predator, but Ryan thought it was always a game, no matter how uncomfortable he would get he would still tell himself that the Priest was playing with him. He had grown incredibly into his teenage body, so much so that he attracted the attentions of many women and men._

 _It was when he finally began comprehending life and the morals between right and wrong that he broke, and it happened at the church. He was stuck studying the bible and it's meanings for what felt like the millionth time when the Pastor leaned over behind him, his breath tickling the nape of his neck and his ear. He remembered the cool shiver that had trickled down his spine like an ice cube being dropped down his shirt. He could even recall how tense he had gotten, how he'd grit his teeth and clenched his fingers, and then suddenly he broke. It was like all those years of abuse and the Pastor had finally gotten to him. "I have a new installment of the testimony; I just have to transfer it to you." He said. "Wanna play again, James? For old times sake?" Ryan had no answers for that, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. It didn't take him long to whirl on the eighty-five year old man, and he had him pinned to the floor in seconds, his pencil going through one eye before he pulled it out to again repeat the action. He hadn't stopped stabbing the man until the pencil finally snapped under the pressure of his grip, and then he had just sat there on the ground screaming over and over again._

 _When he returned home, it was nightfall. He hadn't bothered to smear away the blood, something about it made him feel better and more comfortable in his skins. His mother was there, and as usual she greeted him with a gun clamped in her left hand, only tonight- it was aimed at him. "Ryan." She said, her voice quivering with a mixture of love and fear. How could a mother not love her own offspring? Ryan could only answer her with a laugh, after all these years she still held him at gun point._

 _His father had been smart, he had tried to kill him, and he would have succeeded. He always said that Ryan was the anti-Christ, a freak of nature, someone that should have never been birthed to begin with, but Ryan always thought it was a joke. It took him sixteen years to realize that not just one person thought he was truly that, he had never been relatively normal. He'd dissected multiple animals, and the first puppy they got he had baked it alive in the oven just to hear it scream. There was also that time he had pushed a little girl in the way of an oncoming school bus, or when he'd burnt down the school, made sure his mother would have a stillborn as a replacement by 'accidentally' pushing her down the stairs, or even when he had killed the neighborhood mailman just because he wouldn't hand over his wallet. He should have realized it sooner, that wasn't the way that normal children his age behaved, and he was the farthest thing from normal._

 _"I was talking to my spoon the previous night." He had replied, walking around the light that surrounded his mother as if he were a demon unable to touch it's angelic beauty. "And it all suddenly became clear. I'm not normal."_

 _She had shook with fear, and nearly dropped the gun as well, but when she opened her mouth to speak her voice was firm and trenchant- completely contradictory to her stance. "You were an accident, one your father and I could have loved. But you were never like us, or anyone for that matter, you were wrong, Ryan. And you know that deep in your black and withered heart, you can't be allowed to live."_

 _Ryan had laughed, it was usual that he laugh instead of speak. "Pull the trigger." He had demanded, but his mother only shook and sobbed brokenly, tears streaming down her face. "PULL THE TRIGGER!" And then he attacked. The night had been a long one, full of screams and tears and bloodshed, but in the end after her eight hours of horrific torture, his mother had passed on. The rest of that evening and into the morning after had been spent with Ryan cleaning up his mess, properly burying his mother, and packing his things to leave. There was only one place in the world where a 'freak' like him could live safely until his descent into Hell; Los Santos._

" _RYAN!"_

His eyes snapped up, looking to the blank drawing board ahead of himself. Once again he had fallen prey to reminiscence. A sigh spilled out of his lips as he leaned forward, scrubbing his hands against his eyes. The mid-morning light struck his pupils harshly, giving him a minor and few second long headache. He cursed the day for being so beautifully bright, he had never truly accustomed to the light. Glancing over, he notes his 'boss'- Thane Knight- was standing mere inches away from where he was perched. "You haven't been listening, again, have you?!"

His tone was far from calm, Ryan liked that shade on him, it reminded him of his father when he would get upset with Ryan for waking up right before another murder attempt. Thane was one of the largest crime bosses in all of Europe, he had been born in London and was quick to wipe all the other names off the map in favor of his own, he had the same idea to do that in this country as well. Ryan was his strong-arm, his trump card at times too, the only one he depended so heavily on to get the job done properly. It wasn't like it was difficult to raise yourself up on the grid, and Ryan had already done a dandy job of getting himself up there, he thought of himself as a guide through a jungle of madness, and he was leading Thane right down the river to the temple. A smirk broke out across his face as he laughed, again, instead of answering. Thane's face spaced out for a second before he whipped his gun out and slammed it across Ryan's smug face, drawing blood not for the first time.

The hit stung, and Ryan swiped away at the blood with his tongue, the metallic taste was familiar and somewhat appealing to him. "Yes, Thane?" His head cocked to the side, bangs slipping before his stunningly blue and green eyes. He was attractive by all standards, but he knew that Thane seemed to have a distaste for pretty things- despite himself as well being classified as 'pretty'. "LISTEN TO ME."

Nodding energetically he leans forward a little in his seat. "I'm all ears for you, _baby_." He purred, eyes lidding slightly at the look of disgust that flew across Thane's attractive features. He was older than Ryan by a few years, only 26, but his dark hair and just as dark eyes made him look younger almost. It was the sternness in his voice that made him resemble Ryan's father more. " _The Fake AH Crew_. They've been rising at rates faster than we could even imagine, their crew is equipped with it all, and they've become a nuisance, a thorn in my side if you may have it. We're doing terribly, and you have been more worried over if your _spoon lover will recover from her sickness."_

Ryan clicked his tongue a little bit before returning his eyes to the drawing board before him. The room was basically austere, they never had a sanctioned spot to meet each other, they simply went wherever they wanted whenever they wanted. At that moment they were somewhere far away from the city of Los Santos, instead they were out in the deserted area, dealing with a blazing sun and scalding heat within a broken down warehouse with _zero_ air conditioning. The bulletin board had pictures of men up, many men, but a group was circled multiple times in varying colors of sharpie; Geoffrey, Gavin, Jack, Michael, and Ray. Also known as ' _The Fake AH Crew_ '. Ryan didn't have a problem with them, all of their missions seemed to consist in the city, that gave Ryan and Thane the rest of the world if they so decreed, but apparently they had Thane up in arms.

Standing from his seat, he moves closer to examine the board more. He was taller than the board itself was, standing over 6ft while the object itself was only about 5ft, so he had to lean down a little to look further at it. "Let's give them a welcome party, something kind to introduce them into the world of bad boys and girls. I know all about these people, everything down to the nightmares that haunt them at night, if you want me to break them then consider it done. But that will only impede them momentarily, if you want me to stop them completely on the other hand...-" Straightening his back, he turns with a sinister smirk painted across his handsome face. "-That will take mastery and extra time. It's all up to you boss. Killing them would be too easy, I think it would be better if we took our time to drive them out of the ring, it would give good props to us."

Thane shook his head, ebony hair falling before gray eyes. "No, I don't want to waste time Ryan." A frown worked it's way against Ryan's face, he never took into thought any suggestions of his. Thane was very particular, if he wanted someone dead by a bullet shot then Ryan was only granted one bullet. If someone had to be scalped, then he'd only get a scalping knife and nothing else, he was never permitted to give into his creativity lest he occasion Thane's wrath. He learned after his first step out of line to never do it again, Thane looked weak- compared to Ryan he looked like a tall noodle. Whereas Ryan had a bountiful amount of muscle that he was always eager to show off, Thane was simply tall and lithe- not anorexic, just lacking in the muscle mass that Ryan had produced. But he knew every point on a person's body, and he could take someone down without messing up a hair on top of his head. He was a skilled marksman at that as well, if he had a gun in his hands he could end anyone before they even had the chance to draw a breath for a scream.

When he was dealing with Ryan, instead of the others, he would castigate him. The punishments would be more severe, it was like Ryan were a trained wolf that always had the power and strength to take down their 'master' but was always too afraid of the repercussions to try. "I want you to simply kill them. Not now, let's allow them their fun. But _soon_ Ryan, this city is only-"

"Big enough for one crew." Ryan intervened, picking at his nails with the tip of his knife. "Yeah you've said that a _lot_ now." Lazily he slid his attention back to Thane, who- much to his surprise- was not fuming at this point. "You can handle this Ryan, and if you succeed, I'll _reward you. Greatly."_

Ryan paused a moment, his breath catching in his throat, he knew that Thane wasn't offering up sex and even if he was Ryan would turn that down. There was something more in his voice, something that made his heart pound faster in his chest. He would be granted his creativity again, he would be allowed to continue to spread his mark on the city the way he had been for so long now and had been denied. He cleared his throat, watching the smile tug up Thane's lips as he turned to leave. Ryan didn't know why he stayed by Thane so much, when they had first met Ryan had been that mass-murderer that people ran away from on the streets. The best Mercenary money could hire, and the worst nightmare to ever be dreamt up, his kill count was larger than entire crews- which he had also been able to successfully infiltrate or simply waltz in and tear down more than a handful of crews. He was known as ' _The Mad King', 'Vagabond', 'Shadow Assassin', 'Black Skull', 'Mr. Mad Mercenary'_ and many more _,_ nobody knew what he looked like both under the make-up and under the mask, so he was never pinpointed in public.

Thane had caught up to him after one of his sprees, and had demanded that Ryan remove his mask. Nobody had never _not_ been afraid of him until then, and then when Thane had threatened his life, he'd been hooked. He pressed himself onto Thane at first, trying to get him to engage in any kind of scandalous behavior he would have been permitted to, and when denied- _several times-_ he instead wanted to learn more about this dark silhouette in the moonlights illumination. Thane explained himself then offered Ryan a position on his team. Ryan knew that it was a two choice type of system; that or death, but he also knew that he _wanted_ to work beneath Thane, so he accepted.

Over the years of knowing Thane, he had grown accustomed to his behaviors and to the way he acted, it reminded him more and more of the father he was never truly given, it made him think of his childhood and how drastically different it would have been if both his parents had shared in the interests that Ryan delved himself into. Thane was no longer someone he needed to protect, since the first few days he had seen him as a kicked puppy with a gun, but instead he was someone who deserved to be in a place of charge.

Ryan ducked his head out the window, watching as Thane's car sped out into the distance. Another amused smirk spread along his face, as he shook his head a little bit. "That was my ride."

The city was bustling with activity again, it usually was, but Ryan was more interested in first finding his targets base of operations. He would soon be forced to take charge over the situation and kill them all, but that was something that could be worked out after extensive observations. He was thankful for having his identity somewhat concealed, he couldn't imagine what kind of trouble it would be to wander aimlessly around the city when everyone knows his name. It was like ' _The Fake AH Crew'_ , despite their rising popularity, they all still relatively had their identities intact, it kept them at an advantage over the police and unsuspecting victims. The only ones that could pin the identity down perfectly know was ' _The Devils Subjects_ ', his own crew.

He ran his fingers over his head, his hair was as usual pulled up in a ponytail. It had been awhile since he had cut it all, but he couldn't be bothered with it now or most likely any time in the future. It was maintained enough, washed when blood stained it, and combed after battles. It was silken and lovely, and Ryan liked that it was the only thing soft on him. His gaze swept across the way, then he glanced back the other way. It was as if the members of ' _The Fake AH Crew_ ' all knew that he was looking for them. A sound of irritation passed through his lips as he leaned his back against a nearby wall. It was too hot outside for him to be wearing his leather jacket, but he couldn't think of taking it off, it was as much a part of him as his long hair was. But he would remind himself later to swap out his black jeans for his blue washed ones instead. Luckily, his shirt was white, on the flip side it was cotton and still had Ryan sweating up a storm beneath his clothing.

A voice sparked his attention, head swiveling around to catch sight of a male. He was in his mid-twenties, twenty-four at the youngest. Brown hair that shone a bronze or golden type of light in the sun's rays, and skin that looked kissed by the sun- or at least a sprayed on tan. He wore white jeans that clung to his shapely hips in the best of ways, black dress shoes and a purple top that- as well- clung to his small frame. From anyone else's point of view he looked like a spoiled brat that never learned how to share his finances, but to the trained eye he was Gavin Free, Hacker of the ' _Fake AH Crew'._ Ryan smirked a little before sliding in to make his move.

Gavin was talking to an elderly lady in a polite fashion, it was ironic seeing as he had probably stolen from her at some time or another. Thankfully for Ryan, the wind swept up a single piece of paper from one of the many boxes that Gavin was holding, that was his cue to move in. Swiping the sheet of paper off the ground, he examines it dismissively. It was a bunch of technical jargon on computers and the most of it was just studies on viruses or the type of coding a high tech security system would have, a.k.a nothing that Ryan could ever understand. Moving in, he puts on his most perfect smile, meeting Gavin's eyes immediately, it seemed that Gavin was drawn to him without him even having to speak up first. Ryan was thankful that this man seemed weak to pretty things. "Excuse me sir, but it seems to me that this paper must belong to you."

Gavin blanched, sweat dripping from his brow as he smiled a bit. "Mind just popping it back into the box for me? I have a lot in my hands at the moment, poppet." His accent was thick, and Ryan briefly contemplated how long he had been in the country for. Did he know anything about Thane? Slipping the paper back into the box, he smiles a friendly sort of smile. "May I help you? It's terrible for someone to have to carry so much, especially someone as pretty as yourself."

Gavin squeaked. It was a short and small noise that garnered a reaction of shock from Ryan. Clearly this man was never hit on before or he wasn't expecting to be hit on. But there was more to it, he almost seemed to be acting for Ryan. "I would actually like that very much, thank you." Ryan reached out, taking the box and huffing a little at its weight. The box was heavier than it looked, like a lead box filled with irons and different variations of metals. He smiled still, not wanting Gavin to see how utterly annoyed he was that he had to be doing this. Still, knowing how oblivious Gavin was and how innocent he actually was inside, he would allow Ryan to carry these boxes back all the way to his base.

They began walking at a steady pace, at least it was easy for Ryan, he had carried much heavier things in his lifetime. But Gavin had a sort of swagger in his step, as if at any moment it was a great possibility that he fall and possibly break a bone, all of that amused Ryan so. Despite the fact that Gavin was increasingly attractive, he still thought that seeing him get hurt would be by far the most amusing thing he had seen all day, and he watched a car run over a little girl that morning as well. A small smile etched its way across Gavin's features. "So, uh, what's your name?"

Ryan blanched a bit, just for show. He didn't need to give introductions to the Golden Boy, but he also didn't feel like holding anything back from him. "Ryan, my apologies Mr...?"

Gavin laughed a little, struggling to extend a hand out to Ryan, who was having no trouble at all slipping the box under one arm to take his tiny hand. It was shivering a little bit, and Ryan had anticipated that, it was expected for people to be more than only a little nervous in front of Ryan. He was not only insanely attractive, but as well insanely strong, he could take down just about anyone with no difficulty, and there was no doubt that Gavin was currently aware of that. "Free, Gavin Free. Have you been in this city awhile?"

Ryan forced a laugh, he was good at exuding emotions he wasn't actually feeling. Acting was important in his line of work, and on some nights he always contemplated if he could have just done anything else with the plethora of talents stored in his body to be something greater than what he was then, if he had just been born... _Normal_. "I should be asking _you_ that question, Gavin." He jested, turning sharply to place himself closer to Gavin. Gavin in return cleared his throat, suddenly shy as his fingers clamped tighter on the box. "Oh well, my accent right? Yes, I have been in America for quite a while now, it is a beautiful state."

"Not England though, am I right?" Gavin laughed alongside Ryan this time, easing up a little more from what he had been previously. It was like a switch had flipped when he realized that Ryan meant him no harm. "Oh not at all, I mean, I hail from there so of course I prefer it. But America is just as beautiful."

Ryan laughed again, this time for real. America was the farthest thing from beautiful, with a shitty President and just as shitty people it was an anomaly on how the place remained standing with it's sovereignty at all. Gavin seemed guileless though, as if he wasn't even attempting to lie. While Gavin was an expert on technology and machinery, Ryan was an expert on humans and their natural nature, he prided himself in being able to carefully observe everything in a person's body. It helped that he was so detached from humanity, for him it was like observing an animal instead of really taking in the way another being of the same species moved. So in that moment, examining all the little ticks on Gavin made it easier for him to decide what was running through the lads mind. He could tell, by his gait, that he was contemplating on allowing Ryan to see their 'not-so-secret-but-very-secret' base, just as much as he was contemplating what he wanted out of Ryan- though Ryan already knew that answer. Most people wanted one or two things from him, and he was doubting that Gavin was about to offer him a spot on the team. "Let's just say that America is _different._ I mean, there's so much crime here in Los Santos, it's pure madness."

Ryan tried his hardest to restrain his voice, but there was something about _madness_ that just made him shiver, it was such a wonderful feeling pure in it's ecstasy and rare to come by, so even the word itself was enough to get Ryan hot. He held back on that though, knowing that scaring Gavin away wouldn't ease the situation. "I've been hearing all these rumors about a gang called... Something, I think it's the _Fake AH Crew_ , or something like that. I can't remember to save my life." He added in a little laugh, watching as Gavin's stride jumbled a little bit. He pretended not to take any notice of that and instead continued on the path Gavin had designated for them. "Fierce warriors, strong leaderships, and a terrifyingly intelligent hacker. It seems to me they've got it all, except for a mercenary that is. But other than that, I mean _wow_ it takes skill to be the catalyst that pulls all that madness together and somehow manage to make it look simplistic and coordinated. I know I fear for my safety, don't you?"

Gavin nodded, his throat constricted as he kept his gaze narrowed to the sidewalk. It was kind of endearing, seeing how oblivious he was to his own obvious actions, the fact that he couldn't seem to tell that he was pretty much giving himself away at this point was amusing for Ryan. "I do too, I hate it. All the crime and hatred, maybe one day a better world can become of it."

Ryan was taken aback by his tone, his countenance was distant and he couldn't see through his inscrutable gaze, it was like he had completely shut himself down from viewing. But his tone was still so raw and honest, he sounded like he himself was hurting when Ryan knew full well that he was the one doing the hurting, and Ryan liked that. He wanted to see _more_ of it actually, he wanted to see all the small and broken sides of Gavin, which was something he could probably get on board with. Something about others being in pain was so beautiful to Ryan, and he wondered how far the depth of pain went in the fellow beside him. "Well, here we are. I can't thank you enough for your help, Ryan. I guess there's still some good to be salvaged in this city after all."

Ryan choked on a laugh, disguising it as a cough. "You'd be surprised." He answered instead, smiling down to the shorter male. The air between them was serene and calm, at least it felt like that. Ryan couldn't hear the voices in his head too well, it was all murky water at this point. There were words balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he had no idea what they were forming, or what they even meant. He spoke a plethora of languages, he never wanted to be incapable of scaring a foreigner perfectly just because he couldn't pronounce their native tongue properly, but he was sure whatever he was thinking had nothing to do with any other languages but a jumbled mish-mash of english itself. Unfortunately they were disturbed by the front door of the little run-down and secluded house being swung open. There was another male standing there, short as well, embellished in a purple hoodie and gray white-washed jeans with brown tattered sneakers and a black shirt underneath. His hair was unkempt, thus why he wore the red beanie, and his glasses were slightly crooked as if he had just recently been punched or something, he looked surprised to see both Ryan and Gavin there, so Ryan was safe to say that this person wasn't going out to greet his companion. "Ray, oh _Ray!_ Hi!"

Gavin instantly supplied the air with many adjectives and nouns that would never formulate a proper sentence even if they had all the time in the world, or at least not complete any sentences. The male, Ray, seemed uninterested in whatever it was that Gavin was saying, he was instead scrutinizing Ryan as if Ryan were hiding a knife behind his back. Unfortunately today he went bare. "Who's this?"

He asked, and Ryan drew his attention away from the blubbering British man to look upon Ray with slight irritation. The one thing that threw off his game was unwelcomed newcomers. "My name's Ryan, I ran into Gavin in the market and decided to help him carry these boxes home." Ryan then squared his attentions onto Gavin who had schooled himself at least slightly. "I didn't know you had a Spanish lover."

This time both Ray and Gavin lost it, talking at the same time and denying being anything other than friends or comrades and at some point he heard Ray declare his hatred for Gavin. It was all very amusing, and Ryan was pleased to see that his 'enemies' or 'competition' was nothing more than a house of guy friends trying to play 'bad boys'. "I-I don't, Ray and I are just friends, Ryan."

Ryan smiled to Gavin, dismissing Ray by shoving the box he held into his arms instead. "That's good to hear, in that case here." Swiftly leaning over, he pulls out a pen and scrawls his number across the top of the box in perfectly legible handwriting. "Call me."

He finished, being sure to drop a wink for exaggeration. He was even more pleased when a blush scorned it's way across Gavin's cheeks, he was either monumentally embarrassed or happy and gushy. Ray on the other hand, who had been joined by another man who Ryan knew as Michael, was scowling with displeasure. "If we're quite done here, Gavin, a word?"

Michael had spoken instead, startling Gavin back into awareness. "Another man? My my Gavin, I'm getting a little jealous over here." Ryan teased, his eyes soft as they landed on Gavin's appalled expression. "Ryan I-"

"I'm only playing, your friends are amusing as well. I'll see you sometime, hopefully." He tried his best to keep the smugness from seeping into his smile, but the glares he was receiving from the crew was all too much, it made him feel like he had already accomplished something when in reality he hadn't done much of anything. Dipping his head to the other two politely, he turns and takes off down the street. He was certain that Gavin would text him or call him at some point, despite all the glares and scoldings he would undoubtedly receive. ' _98347 Starlight Rd. Got you...'_


	8. Chapter 6

Here's chapter six. Why don't you take a break and stop reading for a bit? You know, there's some shit called social interaction that you might benefit from actually trying. Let's do that together, I'll stop typing and you stop reading. So... How's the weather? Is it sunny out? How's work? Gettin a good income? Stuff like that, I gave you starters, have fun. Go talk to people, get involved in your community. It's boring as fuck but I have to promote good morals through this story or else it's just gore and gay porn. I'm not a pornographic author so here's my 'for the children' act. Go be a good Samaritan. Do you know what that means? It means you're a sack of dicks and you suck cuz you aren't me.

From your asshole of an author


	9. Chapter 7

Gavin wasn't more than two feet through the door when the team pounced on him, Michael was the loudest so he was heard throughout the entire house. Gavin had on multiple occasions told him to hush but he doubted that he was heard above the roar of Michael and Ray mashed together. Ray was complaining about the fact that Gavin got all the ' _attractive_ ' ones and Michael was busy bitching about the dangers of letting someone know their location. Gavin, meanwhile, couldn't break the smile on his features. He wasn't exactly self-conscious, in all reality he was probably the most arrogant on the entire team so far, but he usually contained that. He'd known Geoff for the longest now, and he knew that one of the prime pet peeves he had was arrogance. "Gavin what were you _thinking?!_ "

Michael's voice reeled him back into reality, his tone was softer than it had previously been, more gentle but still firm and reprimanding. Michael had seemed to take the greatest liking to Gavin, where Michael had strength Gavin had smarts and that made them the perfect dynamic duo. Gavin had at first felt like a charity case that the infamous 'Ragequit' was looking over, but through time he was finally able to see that he wasn't as useless as he had initially assumed. It was only fair that Michael be the first to scold him. "Is it really such a dilemma? So I allowed a random civilian to see one of our _many_ hideouts, we'll just be moving in a week anyway. Bugger off with all your complaints. He'll high tail out of here the minute he's aware of my true nature."

Ray fell silent, a contemplating countenance taking place of his usual lazy and carefree expression. He was hardly the type to think for long, but something about what Gavin had said left him stuck in a trance-like state. Gavin turned his attentions to Michael instead who was trying his hardest to assuage the anger left within his cranium. It was about that time that Geoff finally came into the clearing, his eyes were stone cold and hard, all amusement and anything light-hearted was quickly swept out of the room. Ray gulped audibly. "What is this I hear about someone knowing our base?"

Michael pointed at Gavin instantly who slumped himself down into a chair next to the boxes. A wiry strand of hair fell before his eyes which were still covered by his signature douchebag glasses. He looked exasperated, as if everyone else were in the wrong instead of him, and honestly in his mind he had convinced himself that he was the farthest thing from wrong. "Yes yes, you heard properly Geoff. A man knows our whereabouts, oh wait news flash, _many_ people know our whereabouts. It's not like they know our faces though, well, except a few officers suspect some of us." Sitting forward on the couch, he finally pulls of the glasses, his brilliant green eyes reflecting the same amount of disrespectful boredom that laced his tone. "An _attractive_ man at that, think he'll let me wank him before I scare him off? Or maybe something even _better_ than that?"

Ray dropped his head into his hands, and Michael flushed red with anger, only Geoff looked natural as he looked back at Gavin. He was really always the same amount of calm at all times, even in a maelstrom of bullets he could still pull off looking like he were at a lecture in Harvard. His next move was unpredictable, his movements precise and skilled as he hauled Gavin up off the couch, swinging him over until his body slammed into the wall. "When the cops are on our ass and we need a 'casualty', don't be surprised if that's _you."_

His tone was still natural and soft, that's what scared the others most, but Gavin still held a smug smirk as if he had somehow proved a point of some kind. Releasing the boys' shirt collar, he steps away, brushing his fingers languidly across his trousers. "Alright boys, this little setback won't hold us for long. While Gavin recuperates and _handles_ this man _properly_ -"

"Hold on a bloody moment!" Gavin interjected, garnering the stares of his peers. Finally his expression held bewilderment instead of boredom, it was a nicer change from the disrespect he was so eager to show. "You want me to _kill_ a man simply because he asked me on a date? That's barmy!"

Geoff still managed a chuckle, taking another step closer to Gavin who had squared up against him this time. He was in no mood to not stand his ground, he didn't want to have to knock a man off just because they held common interests, it was a ridiculous point to try and make. "No, what's ' _barmy'_ is that you brought him here in the first place-" He raised a finger up to silence Gavin before he could further protest. "-You have _no idea_ what he's capable of, and I have a weird feeling of him."

Ray nodded, finally deciding to speak up on the whole thing with a more rational and acceptable point of view instead of simply complaining about attractive men never looking twice at him. "I actually agree with that, something about him set me off. Yeah he was attractive, but he seemed too at ease, and it seemed _way_ too coincidental that he was there to help _you_ of all people. When do we catch breaks? Most people who come into our lives are there for a reason, and it's never a good one."

Gavin managed to still roll his eyes despite his incredulous expression, he knew that they were right and the possibilities of Ryan simply being attracted to him just so that Gavin can blow a load off were slim and shrinking with every moment. The whole thing seemed so unimaginable or story-like, something that shouldn't have ever happened. But Gavin was also sure that killing him would only arise more questions and more hardships. Swallowing down on the bile of rude words poised on the tip of his tongue, he nods. "Fine. I'll handle the tosh. Pleased?"

Geoff smiled, a lavish smile that was slow and took up the entirety of his face. It was another annoying thing that Gavin had begun to resent, Geoff always had to have his way. He didn't care that Geoff had technically been the sole one to pull them all together, but he also took responsibility himself. He was present each time another member was dragged into the confidentiality of their little entourage. He could recall every day for every person and every way that it had happened, the only one he could honestly say that he really enjoyed was Michael. And that was strictly because in a sense they were both one person, one super perfect human. It had been a month since they'd all gotten together now, so he was trying his hardest to fit in with them properly, but something was just off in their group. That and five hardly felt like a proper number. He glanced out the door as it opened, Jack's lumbering body waltzing in. He was a hulking figure, taller than the most and full of fat and muscle.

He was one of the people on the team that nobody wanted to take on, and it was only because he _looked_ like he could take anyone down. He had strengths that tripled everyone else's, but unfortunately he lacked in skills other than flying a plane. "What's going on in here?"

He asked, his tone cheery as usual, it was slightly unnerving only because Gavin had seen him tear people limb from limb before in the few previous heists they'd been on. "Nothing. I'm heading out." He grumbled, grabbing a coat before turning to leave the house again. The boxes were delivered, and because he was petty and childish he wanted to leave it to them to figure everything out. Before anyone could call him back, the door had shut behind him and he was already revving up the engine to his sleek black motorcycle.

Jack glanced awkwardly between everyone, shivering a bit at the tension in the room. He looked to Michael, his face reddened with fury, and then to Geoff who was pinching the bridge of his nose- only Ray looked casual as he slumped himself against the couch. He had been able to hear the group from his perch in the kitchen, but the pie he was eating was much too delicious for him to be able to care enough. "So...?" He asked again, gaining Michael's gaze instead of Geoff's.

He and Michael hadn't really talked much, Jack didn't really tend to talk a lot. Or make eye contact. Or really make _any_ contact. He was always satisfied being alone or doing his own thing, and he never protested any of Geoff's orders, he was a good worker and that meant that he had to keep his mouth shut. He knew that Michael didn't like him because of that, despite having been a group now for a few months he still seemed to get further on edge whenever Jack so much as breathed in the same room as him. "Gavin let someone know our secret base and now he's gotta go kill the guy."

Jack laughed a little, something about the scenario was amusing. Gavin had been a trouble maker since the first heist they pulled off together, he was forever messing with things or pausing to hit on an attendant or hostage, he was dead weight to the team and was used to his fullest potential when his involvement in the heist landed him safely in a van miles away from them. Geoff never listened when Jack filed his complaints though, he was always telling him that he should be thankful that someone so intelligent decided to even plan their heists for them. That was the flip side of Gavin, not one heist had ever failed so long as he planned it and everything went accordingly. He planned for everything, every possible outcome and failure as well as various ways for success. Jack had seen him work hard like that before, he had once stayed the night in the safe house, awake and thriving off of energy drinks and caffeine when Jack found him the next morning. He was an absolute mess, and it was the first time that Jack had actually _witnessed_ Gavin destroy himself just so that the team would never suffer casualties or a failure.

Jack had even taken the liberty to look up more information about Gavin, and to ask around. Geoff had told everything, primarily because Gavin had told him he didn't mind the world knowing why he was there or why he agreed to spend the remainder of his life with the Fake AH Crew _,_ it hadn't been a secret and police records could show the day that it had happened as well. Jack liked to think that was the only reason he was close to Gavin anymore, there was something about the honesty and integrity in Gavin that made people want to try more with him- despite all his annoying arrogance. "Well, I'm sure Geoff is far from pleased with this news then."

Michael laughed a little. There were times when the two could stand each other, not very often, but it still happened. "Yeah, he's furious, but I think we should all give Gavin a little bit of a break. I mean, it's not like he does this _every_ day-"

"No, just every _other_ day." Geoff interjected, eyes darkened with exhaustion and slight concern. It was no secret that Geoff was closest with Gavin, despite the fact that Gavin chose to spend the most of his time in the presence of Michael, it was what confused Jack most. He and Geoff had very similar personalities, and it would be likely that he'd in a way be the favorite- and his jealousies were childish because he _knew_ Geoff was a fatherly figure for Gavin, but he also knew that Geoff resigned himself to hardly befriending the others. Perfectly content with only knowing Gavin.

They'd all joined the crew around the same time, and since their start they'd only been on a few heists, some of which were useless and mainly there for the fun of it all. "It'll get easier Geoff, he's still one of the youngest here, he's prone to find sources of entertainment."

Geoff lanced towards Jack momentarily, a slight thankful expression ghosting through his eyes. It's what confused Jack most, Geoff expressed little to nothing, unless it was with Gavin. But he held these small gestures that would lead others to believe differently. Like when he carried Ray to a spare bedroom in the safe house after he'd passed out on the couch, he'd bitched furiously about it the entire way up the stairs, but at the same time he couldn't stop smiling as if this were enjoyable for him. Or when he'd beat the shit out of an enemy crew that would dare lay harm on Michael, and god save the fool who touched Gavin unpleasantly. Jack had witnessed all the small gestures, it was contrary to all Geoff was made out to be: just a boss.

Closing his eyes, he breathes out heavily through his nostrils, deciding that it hardly mattered at this point. Turning away, he motions towards the boxes. "They won't unpack themselves, let's all get to work then."

Gavin didn't get too far, he was breathless by the time he'd skirted to a stop on the outskirts of town. He'd rode his motorcycle through thousands of rapid turns, just begging the wheel to slip out from underneath him. It was something he yearned for most often, he didn't ever feel alive unless it hurt- and that thought sickened him.

Ever since he decided that the 'gang' life was what was best for him, he'd grown accustomed to the sharp tear of a bullet splicing through his flesh, or the slice of a knife piercing and marking him in places eyes wouldn't find. He was an actor, indeed, and it was his duty to always remain pretty, so he never allowed himself to get too scarred up. Geoff would be livid if he knew truly what went through Gavin's mind, he _hated_ nights that he'd return home sickly satisfied and bruised, because that just meant more spots to cover up and more lies and disgust when he looked upon himself.

Pulling off his helmet, he breathes the chilling air in deeply. It was a lovely thing, when night cloaked over Los Santos like death's hand, an awaiting blanket to shield the devil from the heavens for a mere twelve hours- twelve hours that Gavin could take on the role of the devil. A figure masked in the crimson blood of those around him- ' _No'_. He thought irritatedly. Geoff had made it a matter of impertinent importance, the civilians of Los Santos could be casualties but not _toys_.

At least nothing violent could happen to them for the wicked sake of doing so, which made it all the worse that someone were doing that. It made a bad name for their crew. For the Fakes. _His family._ Only they were hardly that. "We need to bond..." He mused aloud, eyes dipping down the terrain towards the beach. There was a triathlon being held, a swirl of disappointment welled up in Gavin's chest. That was always such a boring festivity. His eyes raked to the left, then back to the right, landing on a building. It was a bank, a larger scale than most of the rest in the city, towering over the streets like a looming figure of despair. Pure, unadulterated, _despair._

A twisted smirk worked it's way up Gavin's features as he slid off his bike, making his way into the building. Gavin was really the only one in the crew that could so easily make his way into a building he planned on robbing. Ray was jumpy, Michael on edge, Geoff was usually drunk, and Jack was too silent. Gavin was a people person, and that gave him the ability to waltz into just about anywhere, do close to anything, and never get in trouble of any sorts. He was thankful that he had dressed with a tasteful and expensive sort of look that day, because all it took to complete the outfit was swiping someone's jacket off the coat hanger in the front- a black blazer- to make him look like a professional bank-teller. Which wasn't to say that he didn't snatch up a pair of glasses to complete the look even further.

He slid himself behind a desk, making himself look impossibly certain that this was _exactly_ where he was supposed to be. Aside from a questioning glance thrown at him by a girl he had no difficulties. "Are you the new guy?"

She persisted, fingers stilling above her keyboard as her eyes scrutinized him. She was probably in her thirties, nearing her forties. It wasn't that she was unattractive, it was simply that the years of aging were showing on her in the form of wrinkles around the mouth and sun-spots staining her chest. She didn't look ready to collapse, but she looked like excitement was the _last_ opportunity on her agenda. "As a matter of fact, I am, and what is your name love?"

She rolled her eyes before returning back to her work, typing away as if Gavin hadn't just asked her a question. Tightening his lips and clenching his jaw, he ignores her behavior, swiftly returning back to the computer before him. The screen was locked with a security code that he knew only the real bank-tellers here knew. He wouldn't be dumb enough to honestly ask the girl beside him what the password was, and luckily he didn't need it. Pressing against a few of the keys, he pulls up a separate window, setting to hacking into the computer vigorously. He'd been entirely enraptured in his hacking that he hadn't even noticed someone approach him, apparently also thinking he was a new worker there. "You never told me you worked at the bank, or did you just now start in hopes of seeing me again?"

Gavin near leapt out of his skin, face growing pale as he moved himself to block the sight of the computer screen. Above his seated perch, on the other side of the counter, stood Ryan. His hetero-chromatic gaze was smoldering in a sense, holding a confused look as if he _knew_ that this wasn't where Gavin belonged. "I- Ryan! What on _earth_ are you doing here?"

Ryan couldn't stop the smile that cracked along his features, clearly amused with the exasperation Gavin held. Gavin swiveled his chair around a little, leaning on the arm as he maneuvered his expression into one of a pleasant surprise. He smiled lavishly eyebrow arching effortlessly as he poked at the computers keyboard lackadaisically. "Depositing a check actually, after having a meeting with someone here. I didn't know you worked here, I've never seen you here before, and actually I've been going to this bank for years-"

"Conveniently, yes, well you would be correct. Today is my first day, I wasn't actually scheduled to come in so early but you know me- or you don't- I want to make a great impression." Ryan leaned his arms against the counter, Gavin subtly watching the way his shirt tightened around his shoulders and muscles bunched at the curved position his arms were in. "I'll be sure to leave a good word about you to Mr. Darcy, the owner of this establishment. I get tea with him every Thursday, we're both usually busy the weekend."

Gavin laughed a little, knowing full well that if Ryan placed his name here he'd be fucked. He'd pulled of heists in a shorter time span than two days though, and he'd be dammed if he were going to fail a heist because of a pretty face and sculpted body. He shook those thoughts clear, maybe Ryan _did_ know too much. His fingers worked against the keyboard a moment longer, the screen finally clearing away as the lock dissolved into nothingness. "So, Ryan, a meeting? That must be a bore, especially in a bank."

"Tell me about it, I mean if you're going to be working here you'll find out soon enough. You seem more the fun type though, I wouldn't expect you to work somewhere so lifeless and dull." Gavin couldn't stifle his laughter, Ryan had _no_ idea how fun he could be. That and the woman next to him had obviously taken offense, the typing on her keyboard harsher and louder now as if she were trying to make herself noticed. Both Gavin and Ryan swiftly ignored that. "Oh I am darling, but it'd be top if I had enough money to spend on _having_ more fun."

He listened to the deep rumble of Ryan's low chuckle, distracting him sufficiently from the task he'd given himself: googling the man standing literally one foot away from him. He'd run his name through plenty of databases in the short span of time he was given, sending multiple files over to his own computer instead. It'd help more if he had the advanced technology he had at home, but he'd make do with what he was given. "well. I can tell you're busy, Gavin, call me sometime. Or text, I'm still open for whatever you want."

"Shouldn't _I_ be using that line?" Gavin replied back, eyes lidding slightly. He usually turned sexual when nervous, and Ryan had glanced over towards the computer momentarily, but his eyes snapped right back to Gavin the second he spoke up again. There was shock evident in his expression, but his pupils had widened fractionally, and Gavin could tell that he was more than simply interested. Leaning over the counter a little further, he trails a gentle finger down Ryan's bicep with a slight curl of his lips. "I'll call, _sometime_ , and in the meantime you can dream up any sort of scenario you'd like to get you through, but heavens knows it won't have anything on the real thing."

Ryan remained silent, eyes watching Gavin like a hawk might stare down a mouse. There was an edge to the man that Gavin hadn't seen on him earlier, he'd seemed so wholesome and family-like back when he was carrying his boxes, and even when he'd first stepped into the bank he'd been nothing but kind. This was different, and Gavin couldn't decide on whether or not he _liked_ the different. He leaned even closer, dropping his voice to a gentle whisper, lips mere inches away from Ryan's own. "Don't you have a meeting to be to?"

The shuddering breath Ryan released fanned over his own lips, and for a fleeting moment- Geoff be dammed- Gavin wanted to kiss him right there in public. But he didn't. Restraining himself was painfully necessary. His eyes darted up to Ryan's own as he smiled, a fabrication of innocence playing on soft lips. "I do, I do have a meeting." Stiffly, he turned away from Gavin, walking himself down a hall with such practiced ease that Gavin was made curious on how many times he'd walked down that hall. The hallways didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, but Gavin knew that there was only a janitors closet down there, and maybe a bathroom. He smiled a little darkly at the thought that perhaps Ryan had to stop in at the restroom, but he highly doubted that he was doing that, it wasn't like he was hard any when he turned away.

Settling back into his chair, he glances to the woman at his side, he was shocked to see that she'd been staring at him the whole time with a hateful scowl aimed in his direction. "This is why I don't want them hiring _twenty year olds."_ She shoved out of her chair roughly, the wheels skirting against the tile as she stood. "And _foreigners."_ Finally she whirled around, storming off into the distance, leaving Gavin to hack in his peace.


	10. Chapter 8

Geoff couldn't deny how pleased he was with Gavin's return. He'd been skeptical on if Gavin would even come back to the safe-house that night, and he'd managed to get everyone to head home anyways. Ray and Michael had protested, demanding that they all wait for Gavin to get back, but Jack had reasoned that it had already been all day and part of the night. If he were coming back, then he would already _be_ back.

It was messy for Geoff, because he _wanted_ to go home to Griffon, he wanted to tell her that everything was alright and that he _wasn't_ panicking. Because for a good while Gavin had housed with Geoff and Griffon, just until he was fully on his feet and in the right state of mind, and Griffon had become an adoptive sort of mother. She hated hearing that Gavin got upset and stormed off, that and Geoff wasn't in the mood for any kinds of reprimanding from her.

The time read as 1:38am when Gavin ambled back into the house, eyes bleary and exhaustion written all over his features. Of _course_ Geoff had been grateful to see him, he'd been envisioning the worse of all possibilities, but he was even _more_ thankful when Gavin lied a pile of papers onto the table, collapsing onto the couch beside them with a large exhalation of breath. "You fucking idiot." Geoff murmured fondly as his eyes took in the plans laid before him. "You god-damn lunatic."

"Belt up you plunker, stop wanking about and sod off." Gavin retorted, voice barely audible from his position buried against the cushions. The safe house held two spare beds in separate rooms, so he never understood why someone would feel better faceplanting into something that people put their asses on all day. He settled the papers back to the table, so far it was only a set deadline and information on the bank he'd obviously allowed himself into. Pushing his fingers through the lads hair, he shakes his head before standing and letting himself out. Gavin didn't need any further watching over, he really _was_ a grown man and Geoff knew he'd have to accept that at some point.

It had been a good few years ago when the doctors had told Griffon she'd never be able to have children, that she was barren and her uterus was basically an inhospitable environment. They'd continuously tried and tried, but Griffon couldn't bear a family of her own, she'd forever be like this. Geoff had to sit and watch her tear herself apart, she was on the brink of being lost forever when Geoff decided to dabble in the darker portion of life, when he'd first found Gavin. Though it was an unlikely decision, Geoff still brought the boy home, he'd been younger than the rest of them, and Griffon took to him near instantly, she'd found a soul to look after. It was needless to say that Geoff took the same responsibility over him as well.

Climbing into his car, he glances around the garage, the only vehicle that would remain there during the night was Gavin's motorcycle and the AH Albany Roosevelt. Geoff had protested them all buying a car together, he said that it was fucking weird and they should all be able to afford a ride of their own. But Michael had stressed the importance of them having a unified symbol that proved they all functioned together, and then he kinda stole their money to aid in paying for it anyway. Geoff was again, pleasantly surprised with the entire gesture, but he remained thankful nevertheless. He hadn't seen anyone bicker in the car or whenever they had issues with each other they'd go work on the car together, it had become like a member of the team. Geoff sighed as he sat himself into his own car, nothing fancy, and drove off into the night. Morning would come and that would leave them with more problems to handle.

Ryan didn't know which was worse, Thane relaxed or Thane angry, so he decided that they were both relatively the same. He'd been contemplating exactly _how_ to tell Thane that the Fakes were about to strike close to home, but there wasn't really a way that _screamed_ perfect to him. Seeing Gavin in the bank had shocked him, and he'd been grateful that Gavin had been so clearly invested with the computer screen to be able to realize that Ryan had entered the vicinity. He was also grateful that he had made himself known in the area, hoping that perhaps by seeing a familiar face Gavin would step back.

But Gavin had remained in the bank until it closed, which was rather remarkable in Ryan's eyes. Because he'd sent another teller up there, the one that hired people, and Gavin somehow managed to convince the man that he had hired him! Ryan had always known he was good at manipulating people, he could convince people that the sky was falling outside even if they were standing in perfect weather, but Gavin could convince people that the oxygen was toxic to their immune system and _then_ get those people to start convincing people _around_ them the same. By the end of the day Ryan was struggling to cling to the idea that Gavin _hadn't_ been hired even though he knew inside that he hadn't. Gavin was better than Ryan had anticipated, and it only meant that he had to be even more careful around him.

He paced before the door a moment longer, his eyes stilled and trained on it like it were the only border between him and punishments he knew he'd dislike. He knew that Thane was displeased with the way Ryan had chosen to handle the Fakes, and he knew that Thane was also unhappy with the fact that Ryan was with-holding this. He knew the latter mainly because he had _all day_ to tell Thane and get him to kick Gavin out- but he was so damn _transfixed_ on the way Gavin spoke. He could weave words around a person in such a perfect stitch that they'd never want to stop listening to him, even if they knew it would kill him. Ryan had known full well that standing there watching Gavin was getting him nowhere, he'd gotten all the information he'd really needed, the only thing he knew now was that when Gavin said he could be _anyone_ someone wants them to be, _he literally meant it._

Ryan was certain that Gavin could convince people he wasn't even British while _using a British accent._ He could tell people he were a God, and really was he far from that at this point?! His acting was so impossibly incredible that Ryan had feared for his own safety for a moment, he wasn't too good with reading people when the person he was supposed to read was so superficial that they had no beginnings to who they were. Ryan doubted that Gavin even _knew_ himself anymore. Being swept away in multiple identities was easy to do when it was an everyday occurrence.

Garnering enough bravery, he bangs loudly on the door, not bothering for any acknowledgment before he allowed himself in. His actions and thoughts spoke differently, he'd always hold himself up as superior and uncaring, even if he were worried in his mind. And he was. He was already stifled in his creativity, Thane's next move could be to pull him from the lines entirely. "The Fake AH Crew is planning a heist against this bank, their hacker, Golden Boy himself was here all night long till close pretending to be a teller. I sent every manager down there, he convinced them all it was an err on their behalf, and they believed him and allowed him to stay through the day. They gave him all our pass-codes and told most of our secrets."

Thane remained silent, his feet propped up against the desk as his eyes narrowed to Ryan with a dark sort of detachment. Dropping his feet down, he folds his hands atop the desk, lips curled downward in obvious distaste. "And what did _you_ do about this?"

"I watched." It wasn't what he said, he _knew_ that Thane wasn't upset about the real part of it, but more the trivial petty side of it, the _way_ he said it. It was about the disrespect in his tone, the way he held no care in upsetting the man whom owned him, and quite frankly he didn't. He'd worked alongside (or really _underneath_ ) Thane for awhile now, bordering on two years, and it wasn't fair anymore. Thane had taken _his_ crew from him, had made _himself_ the leader of what _Ryan_ had built up, and then persisted to _demoralize_ and _degrade_ Ryan, constantly castigating him for being the strongest- just to prove _dominance._ And Ryan was tired of it, he trusted Thane to make the right decisions and always have his back, but he was tired of being treated like a dog, the loyal pet that would lay down his life for his leader.

It was supposed to be an equal partnership, and Ryan would take the blame for all of Thane's initial arrogance because Ryan had been _more_ than willing to allow Thane to have whatever it was he so desired, but after so long the charade got old. His aforementioned fears of Thane taking his creativity died then, if he wanted to kill someone with a knife instead of a gun then there was nothing holding him back from that, just as if he decided to torture them awhile longer than what was absolutely necessary, he didn't need the permission of someone who had to take over another persons crew to feel accomplished. "I'm tired of you Vagabond, get the fuck out of my office and don't come back until you have something of use to me. You're like a fucking toddler, get out."

Ryan was shocked with his words, the expression evident on his face. He had never been excused like that, Thane wasn't ever one to dismiss a punishment when it was rightfully deserved. And woefully so Ryan found himself _needing_ that punishment, basically _wanting_ to be slammed back into compliance. But that _was_ childish, children needed to be told when they were bad and then rectified, Ryan was a grown man and didn't need his wrist slapped whenever he purposely misbehaved. It was why he was so shocked that he didn't move, why he didn't just take the offer and leave, because some sick part of him _needed_ to be dominated by Thane. "Oh look, he's still here. How about when you stop pretending to be rid of me I'll take you back under my wing, until then I give you all the freedom you so desire."

"Thane stop, I was being stupid, I don't want to not follow your orders. You're my leader, I serve you and only you, forgive me sir." He lowered his head submissively, fists clenched at his sides. He knew that was the Vagabond side of him fighting back, because that was full of hatred and malice and determination to only be owned by himself. But Ryan needed something firm and stable to lean on, he needed someone to ground him back to reality, because he wasn't mentally capable of keeping himself in check. He couldn't lead, he could only ever follow.

The chuckle Thane let loose was feral, it was the type of noise a killer might make to his dying victim as they pleaded for help, or the kind an animal of sorts would mimic while watching another submit to their strengths. Vagabond hated it. But Ryan loved it. "Apology accepted, just don't let it happen again, _my pet._ Now really, go, I have work to finish. See to it that nobody else hears about the Fakes and their attack, I want them to come, and I don't want you anywhere near to intervene or impede their success. They _will_ leave with my money, and then I _will_ kill them. Understood?"

Ryan only nodded.

The team met in the Heist Room, listening intently as Gavin- for what felt like the _billionth time_ \- explained what would occur on the heist and who would do what and where during when. It really wasn't as complicated as they were making it, though Ray being in a sober state of mind might really help them more. Yet again he had decided that getting high would be brilliant for him, and Gavin was absolutely livid at that. Geoff had drank before showing as well, but he was rational through his alcohol. All Gavin knew was that he didn't kill himself over heists for his team-mates to fuck around and not even listen until they were ready. For once they had a time limit to complete their heist, they had only tomorrow- Wednesday- to pull it off because Ryan would go back and blab to _Mr. Darcy_ when he meets him for tea on Thursday. Which really sounded lovely and the most of Gavin was wondering if he'd be able to intrude on that. The rest of him was busy worrying that once this heist was pulled off, Ryan might put all the little pieces together.

Gavin couldn't really handle the stress that came with a mission let alone having to figure out a plan for when Geoff's predictions come to life. He didn't _want_ to ruthlessly off Ryan just because he was conveniently in the wrong place at the most perfect time, he found that yes they teased each other but there was also something almost friendly in it. Ray cleared his throat, rapping his fist against the table impatiently. "Gavin? The fucks got you so distracted?"

Jumping slightly, he pulls back from his reverie, noting that he'd been gnawing painfully at his nails again. He hated that habit, because it came with anxiety, and whenever he was anxious he'd chew his nails past the point of painful. He'd once chewed his nail till it bled just because he couldn't find all the loopholes in a particularly dangerous heist they were put on. "Er, uh, nothing. Anyways, if you'd all be so kind as to _finally shut the fuck up_ , maybe I can proceed with telling you all where you'll have to meet up in order to get this plan done perfectly."

Geoff chuckled under his breath, hand raising gently to cover his unmistakable smile. "Jeez, someone didn't sleep last night, Gav I hate when you do that." Gavin turned towards Michael, indignance prepared, but the fondness in his gaze startled him back to reality. Sure, he was on edge, he just wanted this to go off without a hitch, but it was more difficult than he had first imagined it would be. "I know, I just, I didn't want any possible failures."

"Well knowing you, it'll be perfect, get some rest, we can do this Friday-"

"No!" Gavin interjected wildly, eyes widening fractionally as the room around them fell silent. It wasn't like dates were ever important to Gavin, nor was it to the others, pay day could be literally any day they so pleased, so for Gavin to protest to openly was new. "Tomorrow, we _have_ to do it tomorrow. They're, uh, shipping out a lot of the cash Friday, so the sooner the better." The lie was swifter than he had imagined it would have been, he had always known that he was a good actor because he could convince someone in a crowded room that they were invisible. It was a gift and a curse, because now when he knew he would be hurting his friends by lying, he couldn't be busted in the lie unless they had prior knowledge. As it was, Geoff merely nodded in understanding. "Good thinking Gavin, that's why we keep you around."

"Yeah." He laughed idly, locking his hands behind his back. "Yeah..."

The day was spent with preparation, they'd all busied themselves with learning the schedule of shift changes, the way the security system functioned, which guns would probably lock and which wouldn't, and what explosives would be best to use. It was good enough for Michael, he was pleased with the fact that he could distract himself from everything around him. He didn't like the fact that Gavin was _still_ bent on seeing that _Ryan guy._ It was an annoyance, but being Gavin's closest friend meant he couldn't just _tell_ on him. Plus that would be childish.

Slamming the gun back together, he drops it down. It had taken him nearly thirty minutes now just to clean one gun, let alone the entire storage room they held. He was only cleaning the guns they'd take, it took too long for him to take them all apart and slam them back together. As well as Ray had been absolutely _no_ help at all. He'd distracted himself with cleaning the scope on his own neon pink sniper rifle. Michael knew he was only doing that because he was still high and couldn't really function properly. Usually a chore like this was done twice as fast because they would simply be able to all work together. Geoff was off studying the board again, embedding the plan and map into the depths of his mind, and Jack was readying the rides. The only one not really doing _anything_ \- aside from Ray- was Gavin. Michael had wondered if he ought to go and look for him, but he'd quickly dismissed the idea, instead moving to clean the guns.

Tossing the last gun into the pile, he collapses against the cold steel table, heaving in a breath of despair. "Dammit Ray your rifle is _clean!"_

Ray jumped at the tone and pitch of his voice, easily skittish by loud things when high, before settling back into his chair with an easy smile. "Nah dude, look, it's only glowing, it's supposed to be _shining._ " He released a breathy chuckle, breathless as if he'd just run a race. "You can't rush perfection, I mean look how you turned out."

Michael growled low in his throat, raising up a gun in the preparation to throw it at his companion when Gavin's voice suddenly blared through the com in his ear. "Michael I need your assistance, stop bickering with Ray and put the gun down."

Rolling his eyes, he sets the gun down, ignoring the snickers from Ray he got as he stalked out. Everyone in the team knew how it was between Gavin and Michael, because it wasn't that there wasn't a sort of _deeper_ bond between them, it was the strict fact that Gavin had heavily relied on them staying as professional as possible. That and he had constantly reminded the team that he wasn't who he seemed to be. But Michael liked to pride himself over the fact that he _knew_ Gavin, above everyone else he knew Gavin. Or, he liked to tell himself that. Sometimes he would boast about it only because he knew that Geoff disliked it so much, though lately Michael had been questioning what he actually _did_ know about Gavin. The blonde was a wonder to the world, he was someone that people saw from a distance and instantly knew that they wanted to approach him, Michael had taken brief moments to just watch him as he worked or simply stood out in the sun like a brilliant golden ray. He was an attractive male, but his attraction was only an exterior type of beauty.

Michael had watched before as Gavin rehearsed over and over to play his next role, whoever he was needed to be he would perform it. He was like a dress up doll, perhaps like a male barbie, he could be anything anyone wanted of him and he would do it with only perfection. Michael had told himself on many occasions that he _knew_ the young lad, that he knew him entirely, but as the days drew by he began noticing things he never had.

Anyone with eyes could tell you that Gavin was a sexual person, he used his sexual prowess to get what he wanted out of people, he knew exactly how to hold himself and exactly how to manipulate a person into falling down with him or simply spilling their guts in hopes of getting somewhere. Gavin had been the breaker of many hearts, he'd ruthlessly done so as well, and had even taken some sick sort of pride in the fact that he was able to do that. Michael couldn't deny the man his skills, but whereas Michael could detonate a bomb and leave people dazzled by his handmade explosives- Gavin could infiltrate an army or even convince people he was a government official or that he _actually_ belonged in that business.

He was powerful in his own ways, and Michael had seen when he doubted that power. Michael wasn't too big of a fan of _drunk Gavin_ , that was just a lot of stress and anguish. Still he never denied the man when he asked if he wanted to bar crawl, he had been witness to multiple occasions where Gavin would bitch and moan about his lifestyle, but he never went into depth about it. He would one second be talking about how much he resented himself to seconds later flip a switch of some sorts and become happy-go-lucky Gavin that _everyone_ knew. That was the first time Michael questioned how well he knew Gavin.

The whole crew knew that Gavin had taken extensive classes in acting, he'd worked his ass of to be able to hide himself away in a too perfect false smile, and it was well worth it's pay. When Gavin didn't want to be read, he didn't need a mask or sunglasses to hide whatever he was feeling, he would simply not show it. There was a time when Michael had asked Gavin about his past, how he'd grown and where he hailed from, and Gavin had only stared at him for at least five minutes before he gave him some half assed tale that Michael _knew_ wasn't true- because Geoff had told him, but then he'd seen the way that Gavin had collapsed in his room against the floor, begging himself aloud to remember.

He saw the way Gavin tore himself apart to keep himself as hidden as possible. Pausing, he sighs as he pushes his fingers through his curly auburn locks. The last thing Gavin needed was him prodding incessantly. Raising a fist, he lightly knocks against the partially open door. "Gavs?"

Gavin's voice beckoned him in, short and choppy, unlike the bright one he'd shared over the intercom. That was more of a reason on why Michael liked to think that he and Gavin were closer than the others, because even if _all_ his guards didn't come down before Michael, a good majority of them did. "Yeah, come in."

Entering the room cautiously, he carefully steps over all the wires wound along the floor. Gavin's room was always a maze of technology. Computers, phones, fax machines, copy machines, televisions- there was at least one of every kind of technological anything found in his room. As it was, Gavin was curled in the middle of all the wires, a bomb in his hand and a screwdriver at his side. Michael couldn't stop the fond smile that took up his features, a swell of pride at the sight. Gavin's head was bent, dusty blonde hair falling forward before his gaze, it was odd not being spiked up. A heavy black sweater hanging off his slight form, and casual and ripped jeans worn around his hips. "Are you in need of my assistance to finish that? You know that I can make my own, right?"

Gavin looked up at him, Michael sucking in a sharp breath at the sight, his green eyes were wide and full of such an adoring emotion mixed with clear annoyance. When was it that Michael started caring so much? Crouching down before him, he takes the bomb within his own capable hands, turning it over and over as he examined it thoroughly. "Here, this wire, you crossed it over the wrong way again, tweezers?"

He didn't lift his head, chucking off his jacket as he leant himself over the bomb, taking the tweezers offered to him. He could feel Gavin's own gaze on him, obviously analyzing, and suddenly without his jacket he felt almost _too_ bare. It wasn't like he hadn't shown himself to Gavin before, they'd spent the most amount of time together. His hair fell before his eyes, reminding him how he'd have to cut it again, but other than his curly auburn locks- he was dull. Nothing Gavin ought to glance at for longer than half a second. Freckles, brown eyes, pale skin, and a lightly muscled body- he wasn't a stud or anything like that, and sometimes it grated his nerves when Gavin stared- as if he were almost hoping for... _more._

Crossing the wire properly, he reaches for the welding gun, burning the metal perfectly over itself again. "There, don't you pay attention in my classes any?" He teased, eyes lighting up as he glanced towards the younger lad. Gavin chuckled a little, darting his gaze away as he took the bomb from Michael's hand, careful and cautious as if he believed it would blow from the slightest of touches. "Course I do, but when you have _such_ a distracting teacher..."

His voice broke off, gaze returning to Michael's again. That was something Michael could do without, sure he didn't mind friendly teasing between him and Ray- and he _knew_ that was because he didn't want it to go anywhere, but with Gavin it was different. He _wanted_ something, but _Gavin_ didn't, and sometimes he questioned if Gavin were just using him.

Ray was in position before anyone could say anything about him being off, Gavin leading the entourage. Geoff had opted for a blow in, simply burst in and take everything, but Gavin had expressed how much safer it would be for them all to walk in like they were here on important business meetings. He'd told them he was already 'employed' in the bank, so he could slip everyone else in easily. The plan was simple enough, the three of them (Gavin, Michael and Geoff) would slip into the bank and find their way to the back. Gavin would handle electronically wiring the money out of the bank, as well as cutting off the power, while Geoff and Michael would be stuffing cash into sacks. Jack would wait on the roof with a grenade launcher and a rocket launcher, because the second the power goes out the cops will start flowing in like fish upstream during mating season.

Ray's job was probably the most difficult, but he _was_ the most elusive of the crew. All he'd have to do is snipe the security guards through the window and the cops on the ground floor, then when the helicopter on the roof with Jack takes off- he'd make his escape. He _had_ at first protested, demanding they swing around to pick him up, but that was entirely unlikely and improbable, so he was gifted with a motorcycle a little ways away and a change in clothes that he wouldn't even bother using. His purple hoodie would be fine. Actually, he was dressed as casually as physically possible; purple hoodie, baggy khakis, slip on checkered sneakers and a black beanie to cover his fluffy mess of hair. He didn't see any real need to get dressed up, though he had contemplated throwing his contacts in and wearing the goofy masquerade mask he'd bought for fancier occasions.

But the thought and constant reminder that not only did people already know his face (kinda), but wouldn't even _see_ his mask disheartened him enough to not bother with it. He swung his sniper around, pulling the sash off from around his torso, gazing through the scope as he prepared everything. His eyes squinted as he fell into focus, when Ray wanted to be he could be the best damn shot the world had ever seen. He could easily shoot a target covered in trees and leaves at least the distance of a football field and then some- still hitting a bullseye.

He could hear _everything_. Every breath downstairs, every drop of a pen, not literally, but his mind graciously provided for him all the sounds he was missing out on. He could feel the wind, could tell by instant which direction he'd need to aim to counter that. Everything was in place, he could tell, he could just _tell_. It was why Brownman was so sought after, because he could envision everything to such a perfect and precise extent that he could probably shoot a moving target blindfolded. He'd heard of rumors of men able to graze a body like that- being able to stop them so profoundly, and he was twistedly pleased to find that the lump of people who could do something like that was _him_ at the top, then the Vagabond, Geoff, and Mr. Darcy.

Snapping back into focus, he switches the com in his left ear to on, gaining proper audio with his surveillance. Jack had successfully landed the chopper, getting the guards up there to allow him before he knocked them out. "Beard is a go." Ray commented idly, voice low and raspy almost over the intercom. "We're in."

He shifted his gaze to the front door, watching through the scope as Gavin led the two into the building. He could hear the conversations, Geoff muttering how he was as sweaty as dicks in an orgy, and Michael commented on how that wasn't the way professionals behaved. Then there was an extra voice, a females voice, tight and clipped. "What is _this_ , Mr. Free?!" She snarled, and Ray could see the way she crossed her arms purposefully underneath her ample bust. "Clearly there's sexual tension here, eww Golden Boy, look at her sags."

Gavin didn't even react to Ray's words, and he felt himself deflate slightly. He _knew_ he wasn't getting ignored, but they muttered amongst each other, at the moment the only other one who could understand how irritatingly lonely it got at a birds eye view away, was Jack- silent, stony, Jack. "Relax love, there was a memo sent out, these are the representatives from the firm in Europe. Mr. Auguste and his assistant John, from France? You really didn't check your e-mail this morning? You're supposed to be on top of this, now they have an edge on us."

The woman blanched, turning and frantically returning to her desk. There was just such a lilt in the way Gavin spoke, in the condescending click of his tongue, it made even _Ray_ forget that they were in mid-heist. Watching avidly, Gavin moves the group away and into a hallway. Ray could have always swept into his infrared scanner, but there was no point to it, he didn't need to see where the group carried themselves, he just had to keep guard on the outside of the building.

He swung the scope around, taking in the surroundings, the bustle of people outdoors compared to the serenity of the inside of the bank. He tuned out Gavin's voice directing the others, they'd finally made it to their stop. That was when Ray noticed something impossibly familiar. His scope swiveled back around, eyes widening as an audible ' _shit_ ' fell from his lips. In the same building, on the second floor, in a conference room with another man- was _Gavin's fucking lover._

"Ray? What's going on out there?! Are the police already here?!" Ray jumped at the sound of Geoff's voice, too entranced with the fact that Ryan was sitting inside the building to be able to focus on much else. What would Gavin say if they met face to face? What would _Ryan_ think when Gavin stopped showing up for work?! He knew where they _lived!_ Ray had been certain that Gavin had taken care of that so such things wouldn't be a problem. "Uh, no, an ant crawled down my spine and I flipped my shit, you know how it is to focus too- cops, Jack you ready for this?"

He only got a grunt in response, and then the explosions started. The screaming was probably the worst part of it all, the sounds of terror being wrenched free from the throats of the innocent. He was never one to revel in the sound of bloodshed and mass horror, he preferred making people laugh through short sarcastic jokes perfectly timed out to be clever. His own rifle, aimed to kill, only struck down the officers. He knew that he was a bad guy, and somehow accepting that made him feel a little better about tearing apart families and friends. These cops were only doing their jobs: keeping the public safe from assholes like him.

He'd dropped twelve cops by the time his gun jammed. He began tugging on the barrel, struggling to get it to open for him. The enemy had ample amount of time to locate the man in a purple sweater wielding a bright pink sniper- and when they found him they didn't hesitate to open fire against him. A shout tore free from his throat as a bullet launched itself into his shoulder, he fell back against the roof, his hand clamping down on it instantly. " _FUCK!"_

He could barely hear the shouts from his crew, worry and fear lacing their tones, everyone was waiting for Ray to say something, but for a moment the world had exploded around him in vivid colors of pain and agony. There was something about getting shot under the shoulder bone, straight through the flesh, and when he moved he could still feel the bullet lodged underneath his skin. His fingers itched to tear at it until he could get it out, but he couldn't risk sitting there indulging in self mutilation. " _RAY SAY SOMETHING GOD DAMMIT."_

It was that voice that startled him most: Jack. He'd always wondered if Jack really worried himself with them, he never seemed to eager to jump into conversation with them- but the roar of his voice above the others, raw and afraid, shocked Ray into awareness. "I'm okay, fuck, I feel like I was pounded raw."

" _They have powerful guns, it knocked him back, Michael was grazed and nearly fell off the roof from a hit, we need to leave, Ray are you set to run?"_

 _"_ Unless I need my shoulder to work my legs, then I'm fucked, otherwise I'm fine." He could hear Gavin's dry tone before he'd even spoke again. " _Smart ass."_

Ray stood and turned, pausing when his eyes landed on the familiarity of Ryan again. This time the man was standing at the window, watching the horror ensue, he wasn't panicked or fearful- nor was the other man in the room. Ray kept staring, trying to make out what was going on, then he used his scope to zoom in further. There wasn't a hint of fear on the mans face, only boredom and disappointment. Ray breathed out shakily, only to revoke that breath when Ryan's own hetero-chromatic gaze locked in with Ray's- a sickly sort of smirk darkening his alluringly attractive features, before he tilted his head in acknowledgment and left. Ray didn't know what to say, or really what to do, so he simply stood there, frozen and open for more shots. But none came. And he knew he wouldn't be sharing his revelations then: Ryan wasn't who he had originally seemed to be.


End file.
